The M Word
by Unbridled.mind
Summary: When Evelyn decides that five years of square-dancing with John is enough, she reveals her plans for her daughter Joss's future in the place she feels safest in the world; Summerville, South Carolina. Rated T for adult humor and sexuality. Probably contains shade-throwing.
1. Mud

_A/N: Hi all, I wanted to come back and write something shorter (we'll see about that) and fun and somewhat fluffy, and to revisit some OCs that I really loved writing. Also I remembered how great this fandom is, so here I am._

 _OCs: For Cammie and Tullie see Chapter 53 of Looking for your Love, Gregory appears throughout Body Count and Looking for your Love although this isn't related, and if you don't know Evelyn by now I can't say enough to describe her._

 _Inspiration: Words starting with M. If you have any, let me know (I have 7 for 7 chapters atm)._

 _As always, enjoy!_

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 _Chapter 1: Mud_

 _Thursday 25_ _th_ _August 2016, 11.13pm, Fall Creek, Ithaca, New York_

After five years on the same Team and a few years of doing the will-they-won't-they dance, Joss knew the difference between John's calls the same way a mother could tell her child's cries apart. Though she'd never admit it, she just liked the fact he called. Sometimes he called from a public phone to politely ask her to break a few information security laws, more often than not from a burner with an urgent request to meet him in some alleyway, and other times he pickpocketed an unsuspecting commuter on the subway to deliver a cryptic message about a time, a place and a body. On this particularly humid summer evening, it was the body they were looking for.

"You _really_ know how to make a girl feel special, John. Wading through the mud, looking for the poor soul who took his last breath here. And they say, chivalry is dead."

"I thought you enjoyed the time we spent together. _And_ it's another cold case off your list."

"Yeah, you've been good at that lately. I _would_ ask _how_ you've been so knowledgeable but who wants to go down _that_ rabbit hole?"

"Mmm, _rabbit_." She playfully elbowed him, having seen him put away four slices of rabbit pie before her stomach hurt on his behalf. "Aren't you looking forward to finding the missing Canuto brother?"

"Something like that." She replied, thinking about how she was going to explain this away in her report.

He handed her a shovel. "Well, ladies first. You know, equality."

She shook her head at his attempt at being progressive. "I should be so lucky."

"Don't worry. I'll do the heavy lifting; you call it in. Teamwork."

"If I could get reception under all these trees. You don't have to do my job for me, John."

"You're right, I don't."

"So why'd you do it?"

"Because I can." He commented on her technique. "You'd get further if you put your weight on it."

"I _do_ know something about digging up bodies, John." She stated with a mysterious glare.

He was intrigued. "I've never heard this story."

"Well, there's _one_ thing you don't know about me…"

 _Friday 26_ _th_ _August, 9.20am, Joss' apartment, New York_

Joss always prided herself on knowing what her son was up to; even when he was evading her questions, acting like he was grown because he'd spent a year away at college, and putting the 'man' in 'mannish'. But this time was he was different, sneaky even. And whatever he was up to, he was being tight-lipped about it. His bags were already packed and loaded in the car; she took it to mean he was eager to see his cousin Reggie and get up to whatever they got up to when they when off to wherever they went off to.

"Want some?" He offered, referring to the stack of scrambled egg breakfast muffins.

"What's up with you?" She asked, loading her gaze with lie detection.

"Nothing, can't I buy you breakfast?"

"You can. I feel like you're keeping something from me."

He thought fast. "Dad's back with Gina."

"Gina the hair stylist?" She asked.

"W _hen the saints come marching in_ -Gina. She's moving in and everything."

She took a long exhale. "Good for them. What'd you think about it?"

"She's okay when she's not singing...or baking cookies." He replied casually, scrolling through his phone. "When are we going?"

"Soon, but I left my sneakers in my locker. You know, maybe I should-"

"You-can't-go-back-to-work." He said too quickly.

"Why not?"

He thought faster. "You said you'd relax."

"I am." She clearly wasn't as her mind turned to sleuthing. "Come to think of it, Fusco's been acting weird lately too."

"Weird how?" Taylor asked, though he shouldn't have.

"Just…not himself. _Off_. Like you."

He played it off. "I'm good."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Fine, I'll pack my flip-flops."

"Great."

"What's so great? Why are you so happy? And what's going on at my office?"

"Nothing. You're on vacation, remember? _If_ we ever get there."

"We'll _get_ there."

"Good." He smiled.

 _11.44am, Comet Coffee, LaGuardia Airport, New York City_

 _"Lonely people are subway art…"_ Just as God was known to hate the sin and love the sinner, Gregory loved the woman but wasn't a fan of her way of getting things done; especially when her machinations were so calculated and heavy-handed. Nature said Evelyn Taylor-Clement was Joss' mother, but she and she alone took that to mean she was her matchmaker too. The gritty-voiced New Yorker was becoming one of their favourites to listen to but even Tish Hyman had to take a back seat to this conversation.

" _Ev_ …" He started in that warm tone she loved and hated equally. "Don't you think you've gone too far this time?"

She decided to feign oblivion. "With what?" He sighed, because he knew she knew that he knew she knew what he was referring to. It wasn't her intention to exasperate him; it was just a by-product. "What? She doesn't know herself like we do, we're just _helping_."

He cleared his throat. "I can think of _another_ word."

"And what word would that be, Greg?" She asked, with a sickly smile.

In return, he brought out the lilt in his otherwise moderate Trinidadian accent. "Starts with M. Rhymes with _peddling_."

She shook her head. "I'm not familiar with that word. Let me think…nope."

" _Ev,_ " He sighed, almost pleading.

"This. Will. Work. It _has_ to." She resolved. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?" Defeated, he drank his coffee and looked for inspiration on how to stop her.

 _11.27pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Joss had always been a city girl at heart, but that didn't stop her taking in the clean air as soon as her feet touched down in Summerville. Aunt Tullie's house was a sanctuary, naturally because she was the mildest of her mother's three sisters, but also because the reception wasn't good enough for Joss to plug back in to the matrix. And then there was her cousin Cece, who always had a drink and a 90's R&B soundtrack on deck. The buzz from the tequila and watermelon and the call of response of Ginuwine's _None of your friend's business_ made her forget about her caseload and all the extra assistance she'd been getting from her special friend in a suit. Cece knew her well enough not to be surprised when she succumbed to the influence and turned into a slurred-worded, body of mush lying across the bed barely holding a tune. " _Lightweight._ " She teased as she threw a blanket over her softly-snoring cousin.

 _Saturday 27_ _th_ _August 2016, 10.41am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Having slept through both dinner _and_ breakfast, Joss woke up in a haze. She wasn't strong or coordinated enough to kick through the bundle of bedding, and wished her cousin would be useful and get an aspirin and something to eat. "Cece," She grumbled, barely opening an eye. "Eggggggggggs." But it was empty on the other side of the bed and from the eerie quiet, it looked like no-one was coming to revive her or at least shove food into her mouth. She dragged her feet into the shower and finger-combed her hair backwards into a low bun barely held together with clips. No-one had to tell her she looked raggedy, and the shabby chic quality of the worn sorority t-shirt she tucked into her jeggings was highly-overrated. But she felt worse than she looked, suffering from the rookie mistake of not lining her stomach. Whether she was hungover or still drunk was up for debate. A debate she braced herself for as she finally appeared downstairs.

The sight to the living room shocked her sober. Sitting across from her Aunt Cammie, who had talons for nails, was John. John, her special friend as they called him, was sitting in her Aunt's living room in humid, slow-moving South Carolina; unannounced, uninvited and unassuming.

"John?" She mustered, thinking he didn't know what he was in for.

"Morning." He replied, with something of a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

 _Great,_ she thought. _Trouble._


	2. Motorbike

_A/N: Hi all, I'm so happy to be back and we had a little reunion that made me all fuzzy inside._

 _I just want to make you smile, and hopefully laugh._

 _As always, enjoy!_

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 _Chapter 2: Motorbike_

 _Saturday 27th August 2016, 11.05am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

"Is that your bike, Mr John?" Reggie asked, with his face pressed against the window at the blue Ducati Monster in the driveway. The mere idea of starting it reduced him from a 20-year-old to an excitable child.

"For now. And you can call me John."

"No, you can't." Cece interjected, shaking her red dreadlocks in disapproval from the arm of her mother's chair. Since Joss wasn't very forthcoming with details, she was pleasantly-surprised to see that if her cousin had to dip in the swirl-pool, at least she picked a fine one who worked out… _a lot_. "So John, what brings you down here?"

"It's been a while since I've seen the Carolinas. Years actually. Charlotte was nice."

"So what stopped you from coming back?" Aunt Cammie enquired.

"Prison." He replied honestly. Taylor found a spot on the wall to concentrate on, anything to avoid his mother's gaze; through eavesdropping he knew John was wanted in six states.

Cece was amused. "That's a good one."

"Charming." Aunt Cammie chipped in in her trademark deadpan tone. "Well, I'm sure we'll get better acquainted during your stay. And how long is that exactly?"

Tullie cut her off. "Cammie, you know better than to ask. And this is _my_ house. You're welcome, John. Feel at home."

"Thanks."

She smiled, because she was taken with his blue eyes and black and white leather jacket. Something about him put her at ease at having a stranger in her house. "Josie, you'll show John to the guest room and make him comfortable, won't you?"

Cece snickered while her mother cleared her throat. "Sure I will."

And like clockwork, Evelyn made her entrance in a peach sundress with capped sleeves, silk pressed wavy hair and the broadest smile spread across her face. "John! What are the chances?" She exclaimed. "Imagine seeing you here. _Quelle surprise_."

He turned on the charm offensive. "Evelyn, radiant as ever."

" _Well_ …" She basked in his compliment and the victory of step 1 of her plan going off without a hitch. "You know, Rosie's flying in this afternoon. You'll get a chance to meet the _whole family_."

The last time Joss was ambushed with this level of premeditation, she was demoted to Field Training Officer in uniform. "It's this way, John. Follow me." On their way out, Gregory apologised sincerely with his eyes.

 _11.05am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Tasked with showing her 'special friend' some Southern Hospitality, Joss fluffed his pillows in an awe-struck silence as she couldn't believe he was really staying. Every now and then, she'd look him up and down to confirm he was there in the flesh. Not that he was paying attention to her; John was fascinated by the old and new photos on the wall and all the people she never told him about. "That's that guy, right? The baseball player." He asked, matching the teenager in sepia to the full-length portrait of the military man with the prosthetic arm who wasn't much older than him.

"Yeah, that's Cousin Jason. He used to be a pitcher for the Gamecocks in college."

"And now?"

"He's a Drill Sergeant at Fort Jackson, maybe you'll get to meet him. _Unless you need to dip out_." She thought aloud.

"I called in the reinforcements; trust me, I won't _dip out_." He confirmed, wondering why she was on edge.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "So, how did you get here?"

"Why? Is nobody supposed to be here?" He asked, proving they had spent too much time together fighting for radio control. "You already know how; you've seen my bike outside."

She was warming up the idea of him staying, not that she'd admit it. "You still know how to make an entrance, huh?"

"And you're Miss Congeniality." He replied with all the sarcasm he intended.

She exhaled; he teased her because it got on her nerves, and all that nervous tension usually led to her finding her underwear with her feet. "Welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay-"

"I will." He said, with confidence.

"… _and_ your time on the skewer. 'Cause Southerners _love_ them some Barbecue."

"I'll take my chances." He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. "So, are you gonna keep giving me the cold reception?"

"Maybe." She rolled her eyes. "...No." Her resolve was plummeting again, like it always did. "Lock the door."

He didn't plan on asking her why or what for, just as she didn't intend on dressing like a college bum for a minute longer especially when she had a man around who showed his appreciation for her skin with the curve of his fingers and the tip of his tongue. Up went her raggedy t-shirt over her head. "Who's next door?"

"CeCe, when she's not bunking with me. Why?" She asked, making light work of his belt.

"So I know who to apologise to."

"You've never apologised a day in your life." It would've stung, if she wasn't pulling his keys and burner phone out of his pockets. He knew she wanted him to stay. If she was the woman he met years ago, she'd never have let it get this far; she'd have had a speech playing in her mind about decency, and what was appropriate and right. But with a locked door, an empty bed and the buzz from last night, she couldn't resist what John had to offer. And through the failed attempts at suppressing her moans, he gave it to her.

" _Someone_ didn't waste any time." Aunt Tullie commented with a congratulatory grin.

 _12.43pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

"You _could_ be more discreet, Jocelyn."

"Leave her alone, Cammie, _some of us_ like to have fun. _This_ decade. If I heard correctly, _twice_. I like John."

Joss stuck her head in the fridge to hide her mortification. "Thanks. Where's Ma?"

"At the store. She said something about the coconut layer cake." CeCe told her, thinking John must be a magician for what her brought out of her formerly straight-laced cousin.

Joss grew suspicious. "She's shopping for dinner already? There's enough to feed 20 people in here."

CeCe cleared her throat as she'd said too much already. "Yeah, well, you know…"

"What's going on, C?"

"Nothing." She had always been a terrible liar; her nostrils flared. "I should check on the boys. Can't have Reggie getting injured when he just made the starting line-up."

"C..." Joss said to her back as she left in a hurry. "What's going on here?"

Aunt Cammie looked away, because she was completely out of the loop and hated being one step behind everyone else. Tullie tried her best to tell the truth, without saying anything. "It's a _big_ dinner."

"How big?

"Wear something nice." Tullie advised. "And I had _nothing_ to do with it." With a soft rub on the back Tullie disappeared into the garden where she poured out all she was holding in, to her plants.

 _2.57pm, Gantry Plaza State Park, Long Island City, New York_

Fusco and Shaw had called each other many names over the years; food names, nicknames and, on rare occasions, expletives, but never 'partner'. Finch thought they could make a formidable team in John's absence, albeit an explosive one. The Machine had produced the numbers of 7-year-old twin boys earlier that morning.

"What's wrong, Curly Fries?" Shaw asked, when he stopped matching her donut hole for donut hole. "You watching your figure?"

"Gimme those."

"Is it the blonde with the overbite?" She pried, not because she cared but because she was running out of things to tease him about.

"No. And stop calling her that. It's _Hazel_."

She shrugged her shoulders. "So what's your problem?"

"It's Lee."

"It's the drugs, right? Salvia? Laughing gas?" She asked with false concern, playing park bench philosopher.

"No, _Krusty_. He blew me off."

"Maybe you're just…not…that interesting."

"Gee, thanks."

"Or maybe he's 14 and can't be seen with you in public."

For some reason, that was a comforting thought. "I guess you're right. And if you're right then I'm _stunned_."

 _6.18pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Taylor soon discovered being roped into setting the long adjoining tables for 36 wasn't so bad when he had front row seats to the _I Love Evelyn Show_ with Gregory trying to perform a miracle by making a mountain move i.e. dissuading his wife from her carefully laid plans.

"…and it's not too late, Ev. You can… _abort mission_ anytime you want. Like _now_ for example."

She smiled, so inflated with assurance she was practically walking on air. "I'm not a quitter. If John didn't want to, he wouldn't be here, making silly noises with his bike. Jocelyn just needs some…encouragement."

"And if she's… _dis_ couraged? What will you do then?"

"Oh Greg, do you _even_ know me at all?" She batted her eyelashes and carried on laying rolled napkins.

 _6.41pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

The only 'nice' thing Joss had to wear was a short blue lace dinner dress with long sleeves that was a nightmare to put on, sit in and take off. "Zip me up." She said, before taking a sharp inhale for the zipper.

"You want me to press your hair?" CeCe offered, when the only answer was yes.

"Okay."

"What's up with the suits?" She asked, taking enough hair in her hand for a bang. "I've seen at least 4 suit bags since morning."

"It's his thing." Joss replied, leaning her head forward.

"You happy?"

"Yeah."

"Aunt Rosie landed an hour ago. You know what that means?"

"Yeah. We're in for it."


	3. Magical

Hi guys, I'm early with this as it practically wrote itself this morning. My goal is two chapters a week so I'm happy to give you this. Thanks to all the new and returning readers and keep sending me your M words.

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 3: Magical

 _Saturday 27_ _th_ _August 2016, 7.16pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Completing the flower quartet of Camellia, Tulip, Magnolia and Rosalind with her arrival, Aunt Rosie brought in far more baggage than her matching monochrome LV luggage set. Compelled by Cammie's urgent call the night before about this mysterious man with no last name or melanin who had their niece acting out of character e.g. having fun, she'd managed to rope in two of her sons and their wives, and to get her eldest, Jason, off the military base for the evening. Rosie's tendency to create drama started at a young age, where she knew exactly what to say to get her sisters in trouble or to make them fight amongst themselves. The fact that she'd brought Jason and his infamous temper along, knowing the fourth tour he served took his ability to control it along with his left arm, was a big enough match to throw on the fire.

Until the moment Taylor saw the cars spilling out of the driveway and lining the street, he'd never questioned if it was a good idea or not. Beyond family, there were more and more people he couldn't recognise and it was then when he realised he might need a new place to live.

A few peeks at the window made Joss more and more apprehensive as it became clear how much her mother had used party planning and subterfuge to bring them to this point. As soon as she spotted Judge Winifred Brooks and her signature red tinted shades, her head started to spin. CeCe didn't know what to do when she started hyperventilating because she'd only seen it happen on TV.

"J.J., you want some water?" She asked, wishing someone else was around. Joss responded with a wheezing noise similar to the air leaving a balloon, scaring her down the hall for help.

Gregory was used to a certain amount of collateral damage to his wife's schemes, but he never thought Joss' panic attack would be part of it. "How long has she been like this?"

"About five minutes."

He figured since Joss was leaning against the wall and her bottom lip was trembling, she was getting better. "I'm very sorry, Joss. It's turned into a…production down there." She could hear his voice, but her throat was too tight to respond. And Gregory wasn't kidding, because Uncle Sterling was carrying his saxophone. "You know; I know a man with a bike who's pretty good at disappearing acts. He can get you out of here if you want…" CeCe watched him calmly talk her down with the gentle tone of his voice, and wondered where he learnt that from. "…and we all know she can get carried away, so just think of it as a party. No pressure." Joss took a few deep breaths until it came easier.

 _8.12pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

None the wiser, the party guests (including John, the guest of honour) assumed Joss was making a fashionably-late entrance. Cousin Jason broke the game of dominoes to greet her for the first time in years. "Josie, you look good." He side-hugged her with his surviving arm, she couldn't help but notice his wife Jackie was nowhere to be seen.

"So do you. Still giving the recruits hell?"

"Just keeping up standards. So where is the man in the suit?" He asked, scanning the garden for someone he heard stuck out like a sore thumb.

Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion at hearing the pseudonym she thought was dead and buried. "Who?"

"He means John." Aunt Rosie chipped in from the card table, since chipping in was her sport. "He should be easy to spot, seeing as he's… _tall_." She shuffled the dominoes in her hand. "I suppose you meet a lot of _tall_ men at work, and there's a lot of _tall_ men in New York. Oh, there he is." She called John over with a wave of her hand. As he approached, she appraised him with her eyes; Cammie was right about his eyes and the mysterious quality to them, he had definitely seen the inside of a gym, and he wore the devil out of the English-cut navy suit. She didn't miss that their outfits matched, or that Joss' shoulders dropped when he touched her back.

"John, this is Aunt Rosie, and my cousins Jason, Jeffery and Jermaine. They're brothers. And this is John."

"My pleasure." John expected the hand-crushing, macho handshakes from her cousins, but was almost blinded by the diamond tennis bracelet on Aunt Rosie's wrist. "That's…something."

"Oh, this old thing?"

"It's lovely." Joss agreed, hoping to walk John away as fast as she could. But Aunt Rosie wasn't having it.

"So John, I heard you all met at work. What line of work would that be?" She asked, seeing as no-one had pinned down that crucial piece of information.

"I'm an independent contractor." He replied, very aware that her cousins were sizing him up.

"In what?" Aunt Rosie persisted.

"All kinds of things." Joss explained, trying to walk the line of truth. "He works with his hands, mainly. That's how I met him."

"Tell me more." Aunt Rosie egged her on with the subtlety of a neon signpost.

"She arrested me. Something about a permit. It was all a big misunderstanding."

Joss let out a nervous laugh, because she'd never had help before. "So I let him go and I felt bad about it. Imagine my surprise when he turned up a few weeks later looking like this." That was enough for Rosie to let go of the bone for the time being, so that became the story they told all night.

Between talking Reggie out of riding John's bike, and seeing John interviewed by every family member on site, Taylor thought it might actually work out and he might even get away with his part in it. _Ahh, sweet, naïve Taylor_. It was all going so well, too well, right up to Evelyn's announcement that Gregory was joining Uncle Sterling's band for the evening. From the first four notes of the alto saxophone, Joss remembered the times this song made her drift off on her stakeouts with John. It was _Wonderful Tonight_ by Eric Clapton and found herself swaying even though she claimed to hate it. And then everything happened in slow motion. People wondered why they weren't dancing, what he was whispering in her ear and what she was whispering back. So at the end of the song, amidst the applause, instead of the magical moment Evelyn was betting on; Joss led John back into the house by the hand and shut the door behind them, leaving Evelyn with egg on her face. "They just need a moment." She covered, before following after them.

"…You let my mother talk you into an arranged marriage?" Joss asked with gritted teeth, kicking off her shoes in the abandoned living room, as everyone was outside.

Before John could answer, Evelyn played Devil's Advocate. "It's not _arranged_ if you already know each other."

"I can't believe you. I mean I _can_ , but I can't." Evelyn knew she wasn't talking to her like that, so it must've been directed at John.

"Come on, Jocelyn, I'm not taking you out of school and selling you off for a bicycle, here."

"No, you're just strong-arming John into something he's not ready for."

John waited for an in to the conversation, though it appeared he wouldn't get one easily. "Who told you men are _ever_ ready to get married? They do it for the benefits, Jocelyn, because they _have_ to. And if you're lucky they _actually_ love you."

Joss breathed the longest breath she ever had in her life; longer than the time Taylor came home with a fro-hawk, longer than the time Paul let him drive across state lines with a permit "for practice", and longer than the time Laskey tried to set her up at an HR-owned bar downtown.

John thought this silence was his opportunity. "Joss, it might be unorthodox, like everything that happens between us, but-"

She cut him off. "If the next words out your mouth are _we ain't getting no younger, we might as well do it,_ I'm gonna smack you."

Usually he'd relish the thought, but that was actually a warning. So he said the only thing he felt was safe to say. "Marry me."

She called his bluff. "When?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe Monday."

"Monday?"

He barely thought about it; he was never one to back down from a challenge. "Monday after next."

"Fine." And with that, Jocelyn Hope Carter and John Something Lastname wrote a cheque their asses couldn't cash.


	4. Mosquitoes

_Hi guys, it's maybe Monday. Not **that** Monday, though...that'd be too easy :D I'm so glad **Kayla2** and **impvme** are back, all we need is **QueenJessicaPearson** for a full-on reunion. Thanks for all the M words so far, Marsupial and Mischief are probably my favourites. _

_Random fact: This chapter could've been called Macho or Manly and was originally called Mission(ary)._

 _Back to that cheque and the asses that can't cash it._

 _As always, enjoy x_

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Chapter 4: Mosquitoes

 _Sunday 28_ _th_ _August 2016, 5.30am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Joss knew he was an early riser, often up before the break of dawn, because usually she was the beneficiary. So when the alarm on his watch went off, she thought it meant time to throw her legs around his neck, or his waist, or wherever. Instead he grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of his duffel bag, seemingly not even thinking about her.

"Where are _you_ going?" She asked, spotting her dress hanging over the chair in the corner.

"Fishing, hunting. At Tostado Creek or something."

"You mean Eastatoe Creek. That's three hours away."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Men only."

She laughed to herself. "You know this is a set-up, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Think I can't hold my own?"

"I _know_ you can." She sighed and got out of bed wearing just the tape from her stick-on bra. "I just thought you'd wanna spend time with me over Uncle Sterling and The Five Heartbeats. But I guess I was wrong." The worn t-shirt covered her body again.

He tried to disarm her. "How come you don't have a flower name, daughter of _Magnolia_?"

"'Cause I was supposed to be a boy." She explained with a tone he wasn't used to. "Come to think of it; I should've been Jason."

"Not with that moustache." He joked, putting on a long loose khaki shirt. "If you want me to stay,"

She really did. "Go. They might as well haze you sooner rather than later."

Her wet kisses on his neck were a welcome distraction. "What'd you call last night?"

"Getting off easy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Joss."

"If you want their respect, just be good - but not _too good_ \- with the rifle, Uncle Sterling _thinks_ he's a good shot. And we let him." She advised.

"Noted. Will you be safe here with Aunts _Venus Flytrap_ and _Sundew_?"

She elbowed him for talking about her family like that, even though it was true. "Nobody's thinking about me. It's Sunday."

"Right, church." He was happy he had a reason to skip it because it wasn't his thing.

"No, silly; it's the Battle of the Church Hats."

 _5.34am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Gregory was surprised to find his wife up at the crack of dawn, already making wedding plans online with a special Pinterest. "I hope you're happy."

"In fact, I am. And Freddie said she'll officiate the wedding and put a rush on the marriage license. All is right with the world, Greg. Good morning." She beamed with self-satisfaction.

He shook his head, suddenly seeing the blessing in being away from her all day. "Joss had a panic attack last night. So in your pursuit for world domination, please think of the little people." He advised, knowing with her; less was always more.

Evelyn didn't have a snappy comeback when he was right and she knew that he knew she knew he was right, so she simply said, "Have fun, Greg, and watch out for mosquitoes."

 _9.47am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

If Joss couldn't have what she really wanted first thing in the morning she would have to settle for a hot cup of coffee and whatever throwback record CeCe was playing. To her surprise, CeCe wasn't on a musical trip down memory lane, instead she was staring off into space.

"C?" Joss got her attention.

"Well, good morning _Trina_." CeCe greeted.

Joss hip-bumped her out of her spot in front of the coffee machine. "You play too much. And stop eavesdropping."

"It's only eavesdropping when you're _quiet_. And I take mine with cream, two sugars."

"My pleasure." Joss said mockingly. "What's up? You disappeared last night."

 _Always a cop_. "You got me thinking of _Big_ Reggie." She confessed.

All jokes aside, this was _not_ good news; at any time, in any place. "Don't do it, Carolyn." She warned, using her full name for emphasis.

"It's just…you're so happy. And I keep thinking if we get back together then, maybe this time it'll be different."

"Everyone feels that way." _Until they don't_ , Joss thought.

"And then I remember who he is, and…" She sighed. "These feelings should've been _long_ gone."

"Every woman wants to be with her child's father, but if he's wrong for you; can't nothin' make it right. So he's around?" Joss asked, stirring away.

"Just when I thought he was gone for good, guess who shows up at the last game of the season? It was just like old times. _Old_ , old times." She clarified in response to Joss' raised eyebrows. The old times sucked. Truth be told, the _old,_ old times weren't much better but at least CeCe was too in love to see it. "So they lost but Reggie wasn't fazed by it; he went straight to the kickback with _that girl I don't like_." Joss smiled and wondered if she sounded like that about Taylor… _probably_. "And Big Reggie, I've never seen him so excited 'bout his son. J.J…we barely made it to the car."

"CeCe!" She exclaimed, remembering these 'reunions' also kicked off a hurt cycle that left her crying on the phone in the middle of the night, or crying in the shower to a wailing Celine Dion soundtrack, or crying in her car at lunch, or just crying full-stop.

"…Last ones out the parking lot. He's still _Big_ Reggie…" She said with a smile that begged for a cold shower.

"Lawd." Was all Joss could say.

"And ever since, I can't get him off my mind."

Joss wanted to say something; she so badly wanted to advise her cousin that no good could come of this and Big Reggie's actions could never match up to his notorious performance between the sheets. But she couldn't, because CeCe needed a listening ear especially with all this love shoved in her face all day and permeating through the adjoining wall at night. So instead she kept her mouth shut, and enveloped her in a warm, empathetic hug. "Good thing we're headed to church, huh?"

"Amen Sister, pray for me."

"You need a fan, C?"

"Just for the flames."

 _10.12am, Eastatoe Creek Heritage Preserve, South Carolina_

Time and again, nature made John a better man. It was the only thing that could tame the raging beast within, well, until he met a Detective who read him like a book. Even now, he could disappear off the grid into the only place in life that was fair; where his survival was based on his wits and his strength rather than which government agency was or wasn't on the hunt for him. For some reason he couldn't yet fathom, Uncle Sterling insisted on his partnering with Reggie to find dinner. The great outdoors was a far cry from the freshly cut grass he was used to on the football field.

"Mr John," Reggie whispered, as John was holding the hunting rifle, and he didn't want to risk getting shot.

"Call me John, Reggie. Your mom'll never know."

"John." He repeated. "Can I ride your bike?"

"It's not a BMX."

"I know. I'll be _real_ careful."

John stopped walking, and listened for movement. Nothing. "You can…for a price."

Reggie nodded. "How much?"

"A hundred grand." John replied, heading east.

"A _hundred_ grand?" Reggie repeated as he followed, hoping he misheard through the leaves brushing past his ears.

"Yep, that's how much your scholarship's worth, right?"

"I guess. Why?"

"'Cause _when_ you get thrown off that bike; only a hundred grand'll get CeCe's hands off your neck _and_ mine."

"How'd you know?"

"'Cause I was like you at 20." The incredulous expression on Reggie's face was frame-worthy. "Okay, _paler_. I was impulsive, a little reckless, and I liked girls who liked guys on motorbikes. Even stole one. The motorbike not the girl." That story instantly earned Reggie's respect. "So, start off slow. Try a scooter or something."

Reggie was prepared to drop it, especially since John was leading the way and his life depended on it. "How'd you know where we're going?"

"Listen. You might learn something."

"Cool…can I hold the gun?" Reggie asked, sounding like John of '86.

"We're gonna have to work on that listening thing…"

 _2.32pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Since she won the War of the Church Hats with a purple fascinator, Aunt Rosie got more than comfortable by lighting a slim cigarette in the living room. Tullie's distress showed on her face as she believed the smoke was choking her plants.

"Rosie," She hinted, in the middle of her diatribe about her soon-to-be-ex-daughter-in-law.

"…And to top it all off, when he came home Jackie didn't even _try_ with him. We all know Jason has a temper but it's been _frustrating_ for him. How would _she_ feel if she lost a limb?"

"It's just terrible. There's _no_ loyalty these days." Cammie co-signed, like she wasn't on her third husband and she hadn't arrived alone.

Rosie took a long drag, long enough for Tullie to come up with something. "Josie, did I ever tell you Rosie was our very own fashionista growing up?"

"I don't think I've _heard_ this story." Joss said with exaggerated intrigue, _anything to make it stop_.

"I remember it like it was yesterday; she was the first one of us to have one of those haircuts, long on one side, short on the other. What'd you call it?"

" _Asymmetric_." Joss and CeCe said in unison. Evelyn's eyes were glued to the weddings on the laptop; she was tuning everyone out.

"Yes, _that_ , so one morning Rosie here, woke up like something out of the _movies_. It practically happened _overnight._ Remember, Rose?" Tullie asked with a mischievous smile that didn't leave her face until Rosie promptly put out the cigarette and asked for air freshener.

 _3.02pm, Eastatoe Creek Heritage Reserve, South Carolina_

Just when Reggie wanted to die from boredom, and John was about to lose his mind answering his 68th question about motorbikes, they spotted a white-tailed doe drinking at a waterhole. Reggie was mesmerised because he'd never seen one in person that hadn't been hit by a car and John was crouching down slowly towards the ground into a better position.

Joss' voice rang in his ears. _Let Uncle Sterling have this one, John…_

 _Let him come home a hero with a story of how he came face to face with a buck but his nature got the best of him…_

 _He thinks he's a good shot..and we let him._

But then he remembered; _he_ was John Something Lastname and he couldn't resist a challenge. She was a beauty. She had the warmest brown coat. And with a shot to the brain she was…dead.

 _8.16pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

On any other day, the man who brought home 110 pounds of tender venison would've received a Hero's welcome but the moment Taylor saw it lower the wheels of the open back truck he knew John had blown it and there was no coming back from that. Evelyn confirmed it when she overheard Sterling saying something about a 'taxidermist for the head'. "You just had to go showing off, didn't you?" She asked, with indignation. "All my hard work…the nerve…" Her voice trailed off as she went off to find Gregory to ask him why he didn't stop it.

Joss was half-amused and half-concerned by it. "What happened to letting Uncle Sterling have his shot?" She asked, helping him out of a shirt that didn't have human blood on it for once.

"These hands can't do that. Reflexes."

She looked away because he was right. "So what'd he say when you showed up with _Bambi_ slung over your shoulder?"

He cleared his throat. She wasn't gonna like this. "Something about a _lucky shot_ or a _trained killer_."

"You're kidding." He shook his head and took off the t-shirt. "You're not?"

"I'd need a lot more practice to be a bad shot, don't you think?"

He was right again. "Well, now he's suspicious."

"Just now? You worry too much. Besides, this is the one place I don't mind sticking out like a sore thumb." He reasoned, thinking he didn't have a cologne strong enough to mask the metallic smell.

Joss hoped for a small victory. "Tell me you let him catch the _big_ fish, at least?"

His blue eyes glimmered with the mischief of a child. "I let him _think_ he did. Bait switch."

She threw her head back and wondered what she had done in a past life to deserve this. "What am I gonna do with you?"

He made a colourful suggestion. "Things that hurt and feel good at the same time."

"Oh really?" She didn't mind his line of thinking. At all. Not up against the wall, making out like teenagers 10 minutes from curfew. And definitely not like grown-ups with an appreciation for the finer things in life. "John, we'll be late for dinner…"

 _8.22pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

The doe's head was bagged in the freezer in the garage. Jason and Uncle Sterling showed the horrified Aunts Rosie and Cammie as proof of their suspicions. "…See? Right between the eyes." Sterling pointed out the neat wound where a solitary bullet incapacitated the game instantly. "You don't learn kinda thing at Boy Scouts."

"You're right, Unc." Jason agreed. Even though he hadn't shot a gun in 22 months, he still taught theory and supervised training on the base. There was no question in his mind that John had served somewhere, but he couldn't nail down which branch of the military. " _Nobody's_ that lucky."

Rosie felt that tingle she often did when things were heating up; because she'd never worked a day in her life and her youngest child was 30, this was the most excitement she'd probably have all year. "What do we know about him anyway? This… _tall_ man John from the City. Josie's never brought anyone home since Paul, not that we see her that often. Sound shifty."

"I knew it. I just knew there was something _funny_ about him on sight. And my instincts are _never_ wrong." Cammie blagged, thinking it was taking Hamilton too long to get there. Precisely two days too long. " _Clearly_ he has a past. Almost 50, no kids? Sounds suspect to me."

"And me too." Sterling co-signed, wondering what mess his favourite niece had gotten herself into. "Last thing we need's to find Josie in a string of dead wives."

Jason sighed, he was due back on the base first thing the following morning and since Jeffery and Jermaine were accountants with cushy office jobs; they wouldn't be much help in his absence. "I'll look him up as best as I can. But first, what's his last name?"


	5. Meringue

_A/N: Ahhh, John. There is such a thing as being too good at what you do._

 _Anyway, here's the fallout of his faux-pas at the Creek. Credit to Stevie Wonder for being a legend._

 _As always, enjoy. x_

* * *

Chapter 5: Meringue

 _Tuesday 30_ _th_ _August 2016, 3.12pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Ever since the _incident_ at Eastatoe Creek, Aunt Tullie's House of Harmony was divided into two camps: on _#TeamJohn_ were the usual suspects, Joss, Evelyn, Gregory, Taylor, CeCe, Tullie and now Reggie because he was still in awe of John's hunting skills; and on _#TeamWhosthiswhitemanandwhatshisstory_ were Aunts Rosie and Cammie, Jason, Jeffery, Jermaine, and of course Uncle Sterling. Rosie's war council had been meeting often to share information. Evelyn didn't take it seriously; not because she thought they'd get over it, but because as time passed the stakes raised higher and higher. In her mind, this wedding _would_ happen; and nothing and no-one could stop her from _helping_ that happen. The tension was rising along with the humid heat as the temperature pushed 94 degrees in the shade.

The only cool place in the house was the garage, but with the doe's head in the freezer; only Gregory could stand being in there. John was surprised to be summoned by the most mellow person he'd ever known. "Tell me what I did."

"So you have _no_ idea?" Gregory asked, restringing an old guitar.

"No." John made a chair from a three-legged stool that was far too close to the ground. "I thought it was a test; here's a rifle, bring home dinner."

Gregory wasn't buying his innocence. "Joss warned you, didn't she?"

"All she said was; everyone lets him think he's a good shot. Why is this such a big deal?"

"John, some things are more important than playing Rambo."

"I don't follow."

"We don't indulge Sterling out of pity; we do it out of respect. So _he_ can have bragging rights and be a hero in _his_ family."

"Right. And I'm not family."

"Not yet. But even when you are; you're not the head honcho here. What you did was the same as carving the turkey at Thanksgiving, or taking the first spin in his new car, or breaking in his shoes. It wasn't your place, even if you are an expert."

"You're telling me to stand down."

"You have to get in line."

John nodded, it made so much sense when Gregory explained it. "So, you think there's any chance they'll forget?"

Gregory chuckled. "The same chance all my hair's growing back purple. Between the _eyes_ , John?"

"Okay…I get it now."

"Good, then you can do something for me."

"Name it."

"Tell me you're marrying Joss for the right reasons and not because my _lovely_ wife twisted your arm."

"I'm marrying Joss for the right reasons and not because your _lovely_ wife twisted my arm."

"Why are you doing it then?" Gregory asked, out of curiosity more than anything else; John was such a black hole he never knew what lay beneath the suit and assorted weapons.

"Trust me, I have a good reason. The best, actually." Gregory was intrigued and for that very reason, he knew John would never tell him.

 _4.24pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Having felt the shift in morale and never one to be outdone by her spoilt baby sister, Evelyn rallied up her troops in the kitchen with the exception of Tullie who was sipping sweet tea with her feet propped up on an overturned plant pot in the garden. She didn't have the stomach for scheming and decided to hop off the runaway train two stops early. "After that little _snafu_ at the Creek, we need to regroup." _That's your mama,_ CeCe said with her eyes. "There's no room for mistakes, mishaps or mess-ups, _John_." The familiar feeling of being called to the principal's office washed over him. "So, it's time to focus. Jocelyn – dress shopping on Wednesday, John'll need a-" She looked him up and down, still mad. "Suit. Waistcoats for Taylor and Reggie but Tay promised he'd do that by Friday and _he always sticks to his word_." She couldn't help delivering another jab to her soon-to-be-son-in-law. "Then there's cake tasting-"

"Cake tasting?" John repeated, not knowing that was a thing.

"Tastes of Sweetness are sending samples. Feedback by Thursday."

"Feedback?"

"On the flavour, John." Joss whispered.

"And Jocelyn, the colour scheme: pick a colour, any colour. Except the ugly ones. How about olive and cream?"

CeCe forced a coughing fit; olive wasn't her colour. "I think we'll go with coral and grey. You have a grey suit, don't you?" Joss replied, curing her cousin instantly and making John blush.

Evelyn gave herself an invisible pat on the back; it was working. "Next up is music; I need your First Dance song by Friday. Here's a list of suggestions."

"Any Guns N' Roses?" John asked.

"Guns, no. Roses, yes. Cream ones."

"He means the band, Ma. Are they on your list?"

Evelyn was puzzled. "No, why?"

He smirked. "No reason."

 _Wednesday 31_ _st_ _August 2016, 3.12pm, Just Right Tuxedo Hire, Columbia, South Carolina_

Taylor was committed to flying under the radar for this whole wedding, in the hopes of getting away with his collusion. To his Gram's delight, he and Reggie were trying on grey waistcoats and complementary coral cravats, if only they could figure out how to tie them.

"John's decent." Reggie said, off the cuff as he tried to figure out what he was doing in front of the mirror.

Taylor was surprised to hear it, seeing as they usually talked about girls, football, soccer, cars, and now motorbikes. "Yeah, he is."

"You shoulda seen it." Taylor neglected to say he'd seen John in action before, at the gun range and in the street. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"What they said."

"What who said?" Taylor asked.

Even though they were the only people in the suit rental store, Reggie still lowered his voice. "That John's a sharp shooter and that's why he's so _quick with the steel_."

There was nothing subtle about Taylor's reaction. " _Who_ said that?"

"So it is true." Reggie smiled at outsmarting the cousin he was often compared to. "You were doing good 'til your voice went all high like a girl."

Taylor knew there was no end to the teasing if he fought it. "He's…good with that kinda stuff. Anyway why'd you care? You just want on that bike."

Reggie shook his head. "Nah. I'm good."

"Since when?"

"Since Monday." Taylor couldn't argue with that. John was worse than the inmates on _Scared Straight_. "You coming to Aleesha's thing this Friday?" Reggie loved a rhetorical question. "I said you're coming so you're coming."

"Yeah I'm coming." Taylor said, as though he had a choice. Columbia was Reggie's home town and he seemed to know everyone, especially girls which made being his "out-of-towner" sidekick all worth it. "Aleesha…" He tried to remember his previous description. "Light-skin, thick thighs."

Reggie shook his head. "Nah that's Brandy. Aleesha: _dark_ -skin, thick _legs_ , semi-phat ass but I'll take it."

"Semi-phat?" Taylor asked. "Like milk?"

Reggie laughed at his cousin's way with words. "What about that girl with the hair? Band camp. Bianca."

" _Bella_." Taylor said with a bit too much force. "She's at Princeton, we're just friends."

"Yeah and John looked _just like me_ back in the day." Reggie had an idea. "Aleesha's got a friend…you still like skinny girls?" He teased.

"I _don't_ like skinny girls." Taylor protested.

"Yes, you do. I've seen your Facebook."

For once, he can't defend himself. Taylor wanted to crawl into a hole; getting called out did that to him. "So…Aleesha's friend?"

"Alright there's Ebony – she's earthy, cute though."

Again, Taylor looked puzzled. "Earthy?"

"You know; acoustic guitar, #teamnatural, feed the whales and stuff."

"You mean _Free_ the whales?"

Reggie didn't appreciate Taylor's correction; just because he was 'the smart one' that didn't make him a dumb football player. "You're the one stuck on that girl, Bella. When's _she_ coming back?"

Taylor wished that hole would appear in the floor. "Mouth shutting right now."

Reggie felt vindicated. "Shyanne's _my_ type." _Insta-Model_ , Taylor thought. "Then there's Alijah, you'll like her, she's _kinda_ skinny."

"I _don't_ like…forget it."

 _5.50pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

"Carolyn, are you sure about your plus-one?" That wasn't a question so much as a notice. When Reginald DuChamp Sr appeared on her list Evelyn clutched her invisible pearls; if her niece was trying to rekindle that flame she was an _all-day sucker_ and an all-night one too. Her carefully laid plans did not include Big Reggie muscling his way into the family for a weekend, a day late and about twenty-thousand dollars short, to get CeCe all gassed up only to let her down and leave her hanging.

"Yes, I am." For all the attempts CeCe had made to differentiate herself from her mother, from shaving her head, to the bronze, copper and now red back-length dreadlocks, she had inherited her short-sightedness and fixed way of thinking. "I think it'll be good for Reggie."

"For Reggie?" Evelyn repeated with all the confusion of a tourist in a foreign land. When it came to his son, Big Reggie was always countless days late and about $20,000 short.

Now would've been a great time to ask why her niece fell for a football player, but she couldn't when her daughter did the same thing. Actually, Joss and CeCe led almost mirrored lives up to the day the former enlisted; married their college sweethearts, had only sons, led nice neat corporate lives until it all fell apart. The difference was Joss had the strength to leave which came from believing she deserved better; and that belief came from her mother's voice in her head.

Evelyn would've continued her line of questioning but the discomfort and vulnerability on CeCe's face made her back down; if only Carolyn knew how beautiful she was growing up and hadn't thought she was plain because her mother said so, maybe she wouldn't have thought of herself as the 'plain' girl who hooked the football player in college against the odds, and maybe she would've known in 1995 that there was no hope for their ill-fated marriage even though she was carrying his baby, then maybe she wouldn't have taken it personally when he left them behind to pursue a short-lived professional football career, and maybe she wouldn't have held the door open for him all these years.

If Evelyn was a cursing woman, she would've asked John to kick his ass with steel boots on sight; but since she was a part-time Southern Belle she simply prayed for his comeuppance. "If you're sure…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes disappeared back into her plans and CeCe was let off the hook. It seemed no matter how many strides she made in her personal and professional life, whenever she hit the sack with that man her insecurities came flooding back; an occurrence he'd been exploiting since college.

 _6.20pm, Bells and Whistles Bridal Boutique, Columbia, South Carolina_

When CeCe came down with a mysterious stomach ache caused by Onset-Wedding-Dress-Disorder, Joss was left with no buffer. The rack of taffeta, tulle, organdy and organza in every style, from Elizabethan-era to early-2000s Never Been Kissed prom, was a five-year-old's dream. It took a glass of champagne to get Joss to try on one.

Evelyn was getting misty. "I always knew you'd be a dream in a ball gown. Isn't she a _dream_?"

Whose dream was the question. The sales assistants nodded and smiled along. Joss didn't. "It's huge…and _poofy_."

"It's _voluminous_." Evelyn said, as though it meant something different.

"It's a _meringue_." Joss stated. "I want something simple, no fuss, no muss, no frills."

"But Jocelyn-" Evelyn protested, as she wanted to like the dress and the man standing next to her daughter this time around.

" _Simple_ , Ma. Or I could just wear _pants_."

Evelyn shuddered at the thought. "Fine. Ladies; sheaths and A-lines only…'cause I can't have _anything_ I want."

 _Thursday 1_ _st_ _September 2016, 3.16am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Since Gregory's pep talk, John had tried to fly under the radar; even when Uncle Sterling's car started acting up he feigned ignorance and let the old man do more damage, earning him brownie points with his fiancée. Joss was so exhausted after the Battle of Wills at the boutique that she was enjoying the best sleep she'd had in ages. So deep, that when John's burner phone started ringing she didn't hear it.

"Excuse my call at this unsociable hour, Mr Reese."

"I knew I'd be hearing from you at some point, Harold. What'd you need?"

"Actually, it's _you_ who's in need of assistance. It seems Drill Sergeant Jason Summers ran your prints through the system at Fort Jackson."

"Jason." John could've kicked himself for not paying attention to all those drinks he gave him at the card table when they played spades. Even though he'd left on Sunday night, he was still being mentioned by 'the other side' in conversation. "I thought we had something in place for this."

"We do but that leaves us in a pickle."

"A _pickle_?"

"Fine; a precarious position we need to get you out of hastily should you wish to get married on Monday."

"That's more like it." John replied.

"So it's your choice, which of your Army aliases you'd like him to find. There's Warren, if you'd like to veer more on the side of truth, Morris or Wiley?"

John thought about it carefully. If he used Warren, Joss' prying family would never stop asking him questions so close to his real past. Van Den Bosch was rich so Aunt Rosie would approve, but his performance at Eastatoe Creek put the kibosh them ever buying the notion John was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He knew then why he should've listened to her in the first place. Now he was left with no choice but to score for Rosie's team and confirm their suspicions with the dangerous man they thought he was. "Go with Morris."


	6. Morris

_A/N: Credit to Saved by the Bell (for a certain brick-phone-having, mischief-making character), Upstairs, Downstairs (the theme, not the show) and the arch in FLOTUS' back (a true inspiration)._

 _Keep sending me your M words - I'll either use them for chapter names or weave them into the story._

 _Random fact: this chapter could've been called Melee or Marksman._

 _FYI: A Military arrest record contains a member of the Armed service's disciplinary record and sits inside their personnel file. In the Military each branch of service has marksmanship badges for certain types of weaponry and levels of proficiency. As its name suggests, a flamethrower projects burning fuel (fire)._

* * *

Chapter 6: Morris

 _Friday 2_ _nd_ _September 2016, 8.41am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing downstairs, Joss woke up with John spooning her, no ring on her finger and a tongue in her ear. "Good morning to you too, John. If I didn't know better I'd think you were up to something."

"Ye of little faith."

"You got the look." She commented.

"Of love?" He tried.

"Of mischief. And mayhem. And impending doom."

"You're such a pessimist."

"I'm a _realist_. And you're quite the linguist this morning."

"If that's what you call it…" She watched his head disappear under the covers in his attempt to distract her with as many languages as his tongue could come up with; the roll of Español, the sweep of Russian, the fragility of French, the simple complexity of English. Deep down, Joss knew he was taking advantage of her weakness as she crumbled down to pieces, but she didn't dare stop him. After all, every lock had a key.

...

 _Birth name: Johnathan Zachary Morris_

 _Date of birth: October 10_ _th_ _1966_

 _Place of birth, Redding, California._

 _Next of Kin: Susan Morris (spouse)_

Spurred by her heightened sense of curiosity and excited by her role as private eye in this mystery; Rosie reached the military base at sundown to retrieve the confidential file from her son and had read it at least six times before she shared it with Cammelia and Sterling. They stayed up to the early hours of the morning discussing how to solve a problem like John and get him away from their niece. With the information in the manilla folder, Rosie lit a stick of fire and threw it in the woods. So although there were fresh donuts and freshly squeezed orange juice on the kitchen table, Evelyn was having a very different kind of morning. Her eyes glanced over the first page before she dumped it on the table.

For once Cammie wasn't coming from a place of judgement but concern. "He was a miscreant. Look at this; ward of the state, arson, assault, arson, assault with a deadly weapon all before 18, are you hearing me?"

Evelyn poured herself a glass of juice. "He was a child, he lacked guidance."

"What about all this, Evie?" Sterling asked. "How're you gonna take 8 years just to make Second Lieutenant? His arrest record*'s longer than my left leg. From the look of things, the only thing he was ever good at was shooting people. And flamethrowing."

"Tell me something I don't already know." Evelyn said with the boredom of an eighth-grader in detention.

...

For a dominant man, John was surprisingly subdued with Joss on top. In the time he had known her; he'd come to appreciate her rhythm as much as her curves, especially in reverse. Joss moved like the waves, sending currents through his body almost strong enough to make him tap out. Almost. "Did you lock the door?"

"Why?" She asked, throwing her hair back and daring him with her eyes.

A sharp smack and giggle followed giving meaning to the phrase: _things that hurt and feel good at the same time_. "That's why."

...

Rosie continued her campaign downstairs. "John had a Court-Martial hearing for mutiny and assaulting a superior commissioned officer, Commander Wallis, in '98. The transcript is whited-out; all it says is acquitted. And you know what that means."

"What what means?" Taylor asked obliviously, going for a crueller.

"You're interrupting." Cammie stated with disapproval, glaring until he disappeared empty-handed. "He's a killer, Evelyn. Six weeks after the trial, Commander Wallis died of natural causes."

"Not to mention the wife." Uncle Sterling chipped in, doing his best to earn a cigar. "Evelyn's façade cracked; no matter how many times she pried, John had always insisted he was never married. "See for yourself; he married a woman he barely knew in '05, Susan, and moved to Bozeman, Montana – in the middle of nowhere. 18 months later, she died of _natural causes_. Then he sold the house for 200 grand and we can't find anything else. Not in Montana. Not even in New York."

Evelyn grabbed the records off the table, wishing she could make it stop, stunned that there was something that she didn't know. "John is not a killer."

"He _has_ to be. Because Jason said the only way John stayed in service after that hearing, was if he was Delta. And Delta records are above his rank. So, are you still forging ahead with this wedding because if you don't stop it, I will." Rosie declared, with all the vitriol she had stored inside for her soon-to-be-ex-daughter-in-law, Jackie.

For once, Cammie let her mask drop. It had been a week and Hamilton still hadn't arrived, and she had run out of excuses as to why. "At best, he's a con artist using someone else's identity." Her second husband, Arnold, fell into that category. "At worst, he's a murderer who got away with it and set up camp with Jocelyn and Taylor. Jocelyn, who's had her fair share of heartache and has an entire career to lose associating with this man. Save her from herself, Maggie, save her from him."

"Ev," Gregory called from the doorway, offering an escape. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" She rushed towards him as fast as she could with the folder under her arm.

...

The last time they were interrupted with harried knocks on the door, Joss' elderly neighbour Señora Marquez was on the other side of the door with a wagging finger and the expression " _demasiado ruido_ " on repeat. Frustrated that she hadn't reached her peak when John already had, she grabbed a fluffy bathrobe from the closet and threw a t-shirt and slacks in his direction. "Coming!" Joss called, when the knocks didn't stop. "Jeez, I said I'm coming!"

When John had flexed his thighs enough times to lose his erection and get dressed, she opened the door to Aunt Tullie who was visibly upset. "Jocelyn, we need to talk about you and Mr Morris here."

"Morris…" Joss repeated, as John put on his watch and tried to avoid eye contact.

John pulled out the chair in the corner. "Come in, we can explain."


	7. Masochist

A/N: The more things change, the more the stay the same...

I am going to post the next chapter really soon because in the words of a rapper who's name I've forgotten, "It ain't over..."

Credit to all the M-named artists in this chapter and Mark-Paul Gosselaar.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 7: Masochist

 _Friday 2_ _nd_ _September 2016, 9.16am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Tulip was a woman who'd lived to see many things but she never thought she'd see the day her niece was taken for a ride by a mass murderer in a suit. That's why she tried to understand how this could be; how this man who she was quite fond of, could be what they said he was. And then she thought of the doe's head that Sterling took to the taxidermist to mount, and she knew deep down it was possible.

Joss started because she didn't want to hear John's mouth right now. "Aunt Tullie, John has a troubled past but he turned it around. He's done a lot of harm but there are things he'd like to leave behind. And I believe him, I believe in him."

Tullie took a long, deep breath as though she was meditating. "Did you kill that poor woman?"

He thought of Jessica. "No. But I wasn't the best man for her. _To_ her. I wasn't there when she needed me and I regret that because she deserved better. She died of kidney failure. I should've known something was wrong the last time I saw her, I should've seen the signs sooner."

She didn't know what to think. "And that Commissioner?"

"I'll be honest; I've always had trouble with authority, that's why I work for myself. He made some decisions I didn't agree with in the field and I punched him. I was punished; they took my platoon and I knew they'd never let me lead again so I left."

Tullie nodded, not in agreement but just because she was processing the information. "I have one more question for you, John. Two actually. Why'd you change your name?"

He answered honestly. "Because I'm not that man anymore."

"And lastly, do you honestly think you're the man my niece should marry?"

"No-one will ever be good enough for Joss, but no-one will ever love her the way I do because of how she's loved me."

Tullie didn't have anything more to say, instead she took her thoughts out the door with her. If John was in touch with the Machine it would have told him to save himself and leave with her, because the woman he was set to marry in two days' time was boiling over with fury. So much fury that the humid Southern heat of jeans on a leather-seated Cadillac in July couldn't compare to the hot eye-watering sting of Joss' slap across his face.

"What was that for?" He massaged his face, and that just made it worse. "At least there's no more pretence, I gave them what they wanted."

"They think you're a killing machine in fatigues."

He couldn't stop the tears from leaking out, it was involuntary. "After that shoot, it was a wrap. They were never gonna look at me the same."

"So you chose _Zach Morris_ , John? You're lucky I can't shoot you."

 _9.52am, The Beanery, Summerville, South Carolina_

Gregory wasn't the type to say _I told you so_ because it was beneath him. Instead, he held her hand and advised her to take it easy as she got _misty_ with frustration. Because she didn't cry. No, never that.

 _6.33pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Taylor could cut the tension at the dining table with a knife. Things were awkwardly quiet except for the coos from Jeffery's baby girl and the conversation Jermaine and his wife were having about the U.S. Open. Hamilton had finally arrived, citing some excuse no-one bought about being busy at work. Upon seeing the white-man-named-John-with a-criminal-record-and-a-possible-history-of-multiple-homocide-who-shouldn't-be-marrying-Josie-if-they-had-anything-to-do-with-it, he casually greeted him because he just didn't care. Cammie noticed he didn't seem to care about anything except golf these days, but she never mentioned it. Not even to Rosie.

Evelyn was noticeably absent from dinner due to a migraine that could only be cured by avoiding food, light and family. Reggie was carefree and oblivious to it; the highlight of his day so far was making an ice pack with frozen peas for John's face and taking selfies in front of the Ducati. But that was all about to change with an incessant ringing of the doorbell. CeCe gave herself breasts a quick lift, smoothed down her dress and ran her tongue over her teeth before she opened the door.

Unlike most failed athletes Reginald DuChamp, wasn't out of shape by his early forties; with shoulders broad enough and biceps big enough to throw 165 pounds of CeCe over his shoulder, he was aging better than most. And even though her head said otherwise, she couldn't contain her excitement. When his father was mentioned Reggie usually responded with indifference, but seeing him in person completely changed his demeanour. Taylor was the first to notice that he went from carefree to tense as soon as Big Reggie opened his mouth.

"R.J.! How you been, son?"

If Reggie's face was a meme, the caption surely would've read; "When deadbeat dads show up like Frank Ocean". Not to mention, he hadn't been called R.J. since he was 7. "'Sup." Reggie said to the outraged glares of his mom and grandma. "…Dad. Fine. You?"

"Ahhh, you know me."

Taylor knew this wasn't going to end well. "Hey Uncle Reggie."

"Taylor! Look at you two, I remember when you were about this big; throwing the ball around with R.J. here." Taylor didn't have that memory because it never happened. The only ball his hands touched was an English Premier League one when Little Reggie played striker and he was the goalie. "I must be getting old."

Aunt Tullie sipped her sweet tea as something to wash this B.S. down with. Reggie had worn out his welcome at her house over a decade ago. "You're looking well. Stew? It's venison."

"Venison?" Reggie repeated and John felt another slap was on the horizon.

"Yes. You know Sterling and his lucky shot." Tullie covered, having decided that she was never going to get the whole truth but she could believe her niece's word; even if she was going to sleep with her door locked until they left.

Uncle Sterling perked up with an animated story pieced together from thin air. "Well, when you've been hunting as long as I have you know just where to go…"

 _9.20pm, Medallion Terrace Apartments, Columbia, South Carolina_

Reggie didn't know what was more disgusting; having to sit through his dad's shameless bragging about his college football career when he'd only seen one game, having to respond to being called R.J., Reggie Reg and 'my boy', or watching his mom fan over a man who skipped court and states just so he didn't have to pay child support. Big Reggie, as everyone except Cammie affectionately called him, could be better named a 12-letter M word that Taylor could've sworn he heard his cousin mumble under his breath when he started the car.

Taylor had heard of Aleesha before but because the description was so scant he didn't know she was a Junior who lived off-campus in a nice apartment with her friends. She kissed her teeth when she first saw them at her door. "You again?"

"You know you want me to come in."

Reggie pulled the four pack from under his jacket and she rolled her eyes. "Is that all you got? Who's this?"

"My cousin, Taylor. Remember?"

"Hi." Was all Taylor could think to say.

She smiled. " _You_ can come in." She looked Reggie in the eyes. " _You_ can stay outside."

"The hell I can…" And with that Reggie ended their banter by shoving his tongue in her mouth. This wet, sloppy mess of a make-out was the moment when Reggie went from tense to reckless and he didn't stop going all night.

 _9.48pm, Midnight Star Bar and Dance Club, Columbia, South Carolina_

The thing about Big Reggie was when he was good he was very, very good and when he was bad he was awful. Tonight, he was on rare form, insisting that Cece changed clothes and put on her dancing shoes. He had a knack for pushing her buttons so when they arrived at the #FlashbackFriday night at Midnight Star she couldn't get off the dancefloor to save her life. Song after song, Big Reggie refused to be out-performed on the dancefloor. From the groove of _Maxwell_ 's Ascension, to the bass of _Mtume_ 's Juicy Fruit and _M People_ 's Don't look any further, to the bounce of _Mac Band_ 's Roses are red, to the kick of Mark Morrison's Return of the Mack, to the sway of _Mary Jane Girls_ ' All night long; she was a slave to the rhythm, his rhythm, and that was a dangerous thing.

As though her brain left her body, everything else happened on autopilot. Somehow _Miguel_ 's Adorn and _Monica_ 's Angel of Mine led them to his hotel room downtown. And then he said those magical words as he lifted her dress up around her waist without asking. "You know; I'm thinking about moving back to Columbia…"

 _11.37pm, Medallion Terrace Apartments, Columbia, South Carolina_

When Taylor met 'earthy' Ebony and 'almost-skinny' Alijah, he thought his cousin sucked at descriptions; Ebony's guitar was a bass hanging on the wall and Alijah was a Champagne Dancer at SC State. He learned this on their pizza run, after he lifted Reggie's car keys from his pocket (as John had taught him one time) when he was playing beer pong. But it seemed the 30-minute roundtrip was too long because when they returned Reggie was already losing at Drunk Jenga and going into full-on asshole mode. The kind of mode that would end with him passed out on the floor at best or knocked-out in a fight at worst. "Turn up!" Someone said out of nowhere, oblivious that they sounded like an idiot.


	8. Misery

A/N: *Freddie Jackson voice* How could something so right go so wrong? This chapter could've been called Messy, anyway I slipped in as many M words as I could. I like to write parallels between parent and child - it always interests me when people lecture their kids like they're not a direct reflection of them. Anyhoo, "paralytic" is British slang for "off-your-face drunk", credit to Pink and Steven Tyler for the title (Missundaztood was my preteen self's Jam).

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 8: Misery

 _Saturday 3_ _rd_ _September 2016, 10.35am, Vertex Hotel & Spa, Columbia, South Carolina_

A packet of King-Size condoms, some late-night movies and a mini-fridge raid later, CeCe woke up in need of an ice-pack and maybe a cigarette. Big Reggie was already in the shower and she was contemplating joining him. The TV was still on, showing infomercials. She fished for her underwear with her feet, catching a bra strap between her toes. This was the blissful moment they always shared, that feeling of being suspended in space like nothing could touch them. Until she came crashing down to _terra firma_ and landed squarely on her ass without padding.

He'd paid her the courtesy of turning off his phone, a Blackberry, early in the evening so she was surprised to hear another phone buzzing somewhere in the room. She found it in his gym bag; just like his son he hit the gym five times a week. The iPhone with the cracked screen read; _LaDonna_. And LaDonna had left 6 missed calls and as many voicemail messages. That familiar feeling of crashing down to Earth on her hind parts washed over her and on the 7th call, CeCe dared to answer.

"Reggie, where the hell are you? Oh so now you can't talk. Let me find out you're with another _bitch-_ " Cece didn't hear the rest of her rant because that unmissable sound of a crying toddler in the background punched her in the gut. She became a woman possessed and got dressed in record speed ( _sans_ her underwear which she couldn't find) and slipped on her strappy heels ready to do the Walk of Shame. And then to add insult to injury, Big Reggie came out of the shower in a towel and she couldn't believe she fell for this broad shoulder, baby oil, pipe dream, Big Reggie combo again. "Where you going?" He asked, on the verge of slinging her another hit of what lay beneath that towel. CeCe felt the heat rise up again but instead of raging passion it was the burning flame that rose up inside when the five fingers said to the face – _smack_.

 _11.02am, Medallion Terrace Apartments, Columbia, South Carolina_

"Reggie's cousin. Reggie's cousin. _Pizza_ guy." Taylor felt himself being shoved awake. Aleesha was in charge of getting everyone out before their nosy neighbour reported them to the landlord again.

"It's Taylor." He said, blinking enough times for Alijah and Ebony's clean-up operation to come into clear view.

"It's over; get your cousin and get out." Aleesha said tactlessly.

Taylor couldn't be mad at her, after all there was a stain on the carpet from Reggie's 8th shot coming back with a vengeance. And she'd been nice enough to let them stay when Reggie passed out on the floor next to her bed. "I got it. And if it means anything, I'm sorry…about the carpet."

"You're not from round here, are you?" Aleesha asked, making her girlfriends laugh.

Reggie was in a state, still pretty wasted, and his breath stank. Even though Taylor knew his licence was in his Kia at home, he knew he'd have to risk driving them both home despite all the hashtags, news stories, and his dad's warnings about driving in the South. Supporting the football player by propping him up with one arm, somehow Taylor got him out of the apartment. And it was right on time too, because even though the best part of his night was getting pizza with Alijah and Ebony; other girls just made him miss Bella and the fact he couldn't stop missing her made him sick to his stomach. Reggie didn't have much to say that was coherent, except that 4-syllable, 12-letter M word he uttered again when Taylor put his seatbelt on.

Summerville's not that far, they said. An hour and a half, the GPS said. So why, Taylor asked the Lord, were blue and red lights flashing in his rear view mirror when they'd barely made it up Elmwood Avenue?

 _11.40am, The Waffle Iron, Columbia, South Carolina_

When CeCe stormed out of the hotel room she'd forgotten she didn't have a ride back home and her son was driving her car, so instead of making some dramatic empowering exit she drown her sorrows in maple syrup and stacks of waffles. Joss came in on her third plate and the only greeting she got was, "I don't want to hear I told you so."

"I won't say it." Joss promised, even though it was inferred. They both know the truth so it wasn't worth saying out loud; the old, old Reggie is the old Reggie is the new Reggie is the born-again Reggie is the Reggie from this morning. And no amount of hope was gonna change that. "Hey, I'm embarrassed too." CeCe nodded, John went through all the frozen vegetables in the freezer. "I don't know what John was thinking. Hell, I don't know what I was thinking."

"I guess he was trying too hard because he wanted everyone to like him, but they were never gonna like him, Josie, 'cause he's not Paul and he's not black and he's not a Christian and he doesn't have a corporate job and he doesn't drive a Mercedes and he doesn't fit into their shallow little box." Joss thought it was pretty amazing that CeCe could be so insightful and humiliated at the same time. "But I like him and I don't even like white meat."

"White meat, C?"

CeCe didn't apologise because she meant it. "And even though you went all Waiting to Exhale on him, I know you love that man and he loves you back. You ever thought of getting back with Paul, you know, before?" She wanted to say _before she took a dive in the swirl-pool_ but she didn't.

"Absolutely not." Joss confirmed, for once and for all.

"Not even for a weekend? I always thought he was cute." CeCe pried because she wanted to take the light and heat off her own situation. And because she was nosy, but that couldn't be helped.

"CeCe," CeCe held her breath for an exclusive. "You're next door; you _already_ know. Now let's eat."

 _11.54am, Elmwood Avenue, Columbia, South Carolina_

 _"Whatever you do, don't panic."_

Paul's words rang in his head as he wondered what was taking Officers Barrowman and Reyes so long. Sure, he didn't have a licence on him but how hard was it to prove he had one? And yes, he was driving a car that wasn't his – or even Reggie's – but that didn't make him a car thief. If only Reggie wasn't half-asleep with his face leaned against the window, drooling. Officer Barrowman came back to the window. "SC State?" He asked, referring to Reggie's paralytic state.

"USC." Taylor replied.

"If I wasn't a Gamecocks fan, you'd be looking at a ticket. Get out of here." Taylor didn't need to be told twice, as soon as the police officer was in his car he pulled off.

 _1.14pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Evelyn was finally ready to talk to John without raising her hands or her voice, or hurling a slipper at his head. Since she'd had some time in seclusion, she'd come to terms with the idea that she might have been hasty with her plans and should have covered all bases. So she was checking with her _numero uno_ , that his head was still in the game.

"John, are you going to marry my daughter on Monday?"

He smiled because the question that led him here was posed by Taylor in a more casual fashion.

 _"John, when are you gonna marry my mom?" Taylor asked, before shoving a hand-full of popcorn in his mouth. It was one of those rare nights when he was home for the weekend and he and John had the pleasure of waiting up for Joss' return with an old Richard Pryor movie on TV._

 _John called his bluff. "You want me to?"_

 _He shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?_

 _"Hmmm. Why not?"_

"There's nothing I'd like more, I'd also like her to look at me and talk to me first. But…baby steps."

Evelyn shook her head. _Why was he more likeable when he was in trouble? Why couldn't he have left well enough alone and let Uncle Sterling (not) make his shot? And why oh why couldn't they just get it together already?_

Gregory was used to teenage high-jinks since he taught them in the city and he had 9 and a half grandkids of his own across three continents. What he didn't understand was why they tried to hide things that were so obvious to the world around them. Though Reggie smelt like hell, he was sympathetic to his situation and advised him to take two aspirin, shower and sleep it off. With Taylor, it was another story. "You know, unless there's a new style I don't know about; you smell like flowers."

Taylor didn't think the girl's apartment would have him smelling like pot pourri, but it did. "Oh…that."

"I suppose that means you got up to mischief last night." It wasn't an accusation or a question, it just was.

"I…uhh…wellllllllll…we….uhh…"

"Enough said. You know there's a better way to deal with your problems."

Taylor ran off some poster slogans from college. "I know; say what you feel, don't hold it in, don't drink and drive…"

"I don't mean Reggie; he's under some _stress_ right now. I was talking about you."

"But I didn't even-"

Gregory stopped him with his hand. "Don't you think it's time you stopped being stubborn and called her?"

Taylor played dumb, because he didn't want to talk about her. "Called who? Why do I have to be the bigger person?"

"It's your lot. It's also called, being a man." And with that, he was trumped by Mr Gregory, again. "It's on you, youngblood."

"It's always on me." Taylor thought aloud.

"Come now, don't be dramatic."

"It _is_."

"Do you ever think that maybe more is required of you because you were given so much?"

"In other words, make Reggie sober and tell Bella I'm happy for her when I'm not."

"Well, when you put it like that…on one hand, you have Reggie whose father just pushed the reset button on him…and his mother. On the other hand, you have a bright young lady with a huge weight on her shoulders who could probably use a friend. If you were ever friends."

"We were never just friends."

"Well, if you loved her then." Taylor wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole again. "Love doesn't mean throwing away opportunities just to please the other person."

"I never asked her to give that up for me." Taylor protested.

Along came Gregory with the right jab. "You didn't support her either. And now you're two miserable young people with ill feelings towards each other. And then there's the meddling." Taylor wasn't ready for this SAT read, at least not without some armour on. "Don't you see that your… _eagerness_ to put them together, to avoid what _you've_ been feeling, has led to… _mayhem_?"

That guilty feeling put a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't believe his mom was capable of slapping John, but then he didn't think John's presence would divide Great Aunt Tullie's house like it did. And not once did he ever question that his Grams could steamroll and bulldoze everyone into doing what she wanted like she usually did. Since he was the one who got the snowball rolling, he was responsible for the 10-feet-tall-and-growing health hazard it had grown into and it was on him to fix it.


	9. Monsoon

A/N: A short one before what happens on Maybe Monday - which will be posted on Monday (I promise). Mouth shutting right now.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 9: Monsoon

 _Saturday 3_ _rd_ _September 2016, 7.49pm, Aunt Tullie's house, South Carolina_

With mother and son licking their respective wounds, CeCe was alarmed when her son skipped dinner especially when she poured her emotions into his favourite meal like the younger sister in _Like water for Chocolate_. Reggie was still crashed out on the bed from the after-effects of the night before and she didn't know what to do to make him – or herself – feel better. "I made the Mac and Cheese how you like it, with bacon and leeks." He grunted and rolled over, something Big Reggie did too. "The least you can do is show your face."

"I'm sick." He mustered a weak cough and wished she would disappear.

"I know you're mad at him. I am too."

"I'm not mad he left." Then he looked at her in a way he had never before. "I'm mad you let him in so he could." He forced another weak cough and she couldn't argue with him.

 _Sunday 4_ _th_ _September 2016, 2.22am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

John knew Joss' habits by now; he knew she was a pacer and a compulsive cleaner when she was anxious, and that she tapped her foot when she was thinking too much about something. But he'd never seen her up at moonlight, staring out the window. Overnight, the skies had opened and it hadn't stopped raining down. He would've paid a shiny penny to know what she was thinking but instead, he settled for putting his arms around her from behind. Luckily, she was too tired to resist.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, sensitive to the alluring smell in her hair. She never told him what it was, all he knew was it wasn't jasmine.

"I'm thinking, there's no way we're getting married in that garden. Looks like a storm is coming."

"You still want to? Get married?"

She nodded. "How'd we get here, John?"

He didn't know if it was a literal or a philosophical question. "Well, an overly-ambitious woman flew too close to the sun. I know something about that."

"Would you still be here? If it wasn't for her?"

It was quite remarkable that the 'other woman' in their relationship was her mother. "I'd be wherever you need me."

Somehow, that was exactly what she needed to hear; that they were still a team. "Then let's get married."

 _9.11am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Cammelia and Hamilton Frasier were both on their third marriages, and unlike the saying goes; third time wasn't a charm as much as it was a tolerable state of being. Except for this particular Sunday morning, when it was cold on the surface and insufferable beneath. They were getting ready for church and she clipped her hair into a chignon bun and evaluated his outfit. "Can't you wear the grey tie?" She asked.

"What's wrong with green?"

"It clashes with your shirt."

He sighed and pulled it off at the knot. "Happy?"

Truth be told; she'd be happier pulling it tighter and tighter around his neck. "So what do you think about John?"

"What's to think?" He dabbed the cologne that she didn't like the smell of on his neck.

"The _files_ , Hamilton. What do you think about the files?" He cleared his throat and smoothed down his shirt. "You haven't read them."

She couldn't help but notice his new green frog cufflinks which she thought were tacky. "No, I haven't."

"I ask you to do _one_ thing-"

"You asked me to come for your niece's wedding, and I'm here."

She held up the teardrop and kidney earrings, trying to choose which looked best in the mirror. "A week late."

"I'm here." Hamilton repeated. "And I don't care about what's in those files. Come Monday evening, I'm going back to Charlotte." In that moment, Cammelia decided to attend the wedding because she couldn't bear the embarrassment of explaining why he'd left early after all that time he wasn't there.

 _9.37am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Despite the great strides the bride and groom had made, Evelyn's plans were falling apart and fast. Even though John had cooked eggs – his specialty – and Joss was glowing in that peach skater dress that needed a cardigan and a prayer cloth to be church-appropriate, she wasn't feeling her usual confident, controlling self. "Uhhhh, Jocelyn? The Lace Sheath Gown with the V Neckline you wanted got shipped to Columbia, Tennessee. But they have a back-up; the mermaid ball gown with a train."

Joss smiled because that mini-meringue was her mom's idea of compromise. "No." She said simply.

"Then what will you wear?" Evelyn asked.

"John, you still like me in blue?" She asked from across the table, making CeCe sick and jealous at this love-fest.

Evelyn spoke through gritted teeth. "Jocelyn Hope, you _cannot_ wear a dress to your wedding everyone's _already_ seen you in."

John sipped his cappuccino. "You mean _Zeta's finest_?"

"Blue dress for the win." Joss replied, looking away bashfully at their inside joke.

Evelyn didn't like this; this was _her_ train; it wasn't fair for them to all-of-a-sudden start driving it. "And you, you're not wearing that navy Prince William suit, are you? Reggie and Taylor's waistcoats won't match. What about the colour scheme?"

Gregory weighed in, masking his grin with a newspaper. "Look on the bright side Ev, the last time he wore that suit the whole family still liked him." He changed subject before she could bite back at him. "There was a break in that police murder trial, remember Officer Rowlands? He was acquitted in that unlawful death in police custody trial last year. Two days after the verdict, he was killed in his home."

"Just _awful_." Evelyn replied, though she was referring to their wedding outfits not the story.

Gregory dropped another bomb, because it was one of those mornings. "Well, it says here Judge Winifred Brooks is presiding."

That got Evelyn's immediate attention. "Freddie? _Nooooooooooooooo_." She groaned.

"What, love?"

"Freddie's supposed to officiate the wedding, I bet she's in the chambers _right now_. How about a church wedding?" Evelyn tried, needing a quick win.

"Can't, Ma. It has to be somewhere John's comfortable." Joss sipped her juice, John sipped his coffee and CeCe wished they would stop eye-sexing and get a room. A different room; one that wasn't next to hers. With sound-proofing.

Evelyn threw one of her Samurai sword shades. "They don't do weddings at the gun range, the gym or the woods, Jocelyn."

Gregory shook his head; _it's a shame she has to learn the hard way_. "I'm sure they'll find somewhere."

 _9.51am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Since Taylor couldn't get Gregory's voice out his head, and he knew how it felt to have a dad who doubled as a phantom, he resolved to get his cousin out of bed by falling on the sword. "If you get out of bed, I'll call Bella."

Though Reggie was feeling better that morning, at least physically; he was intrigued. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to hear it."

And like a miracle Reggie was cured. "Bet."


	10. Maybe Monday

A/N: Because I have an exam to write in the next 36 hours and need to cram, the early-morning creativity buzz allowed me to post this one day early (some of you will read it on Monday anyway). I've alluded with some of you that Evelyn meets a worthy adversary, well here they are.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 10: Maybe Monday

 _Monday 5_ _th_ _September 2016, 7.01am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Aunt Rosie bounced her baby granddaughter on her hip and looked out of the window; it appeared the thunderstorm was holding off and even though some of Tullie's pot plants were waterlogged, the sky was overcast and the weather was bearable again. The chubby 11-month-old hadn't uttered her first word yet and Rosie talked non-stop to coax one out of her. "And that's a gladiola…and that's Mr Greene walking his dog…and that's a maple tree…you like maple syrup, Pumpkin?" The baby kicked her legs. "I bet you do, don't tell mommy, it's a secret…"

The branches started swinging on the maple tree, shaking leaves off months too early. Rosie and the baby looked up at the sky and the drilling noise that was getting louder and closer. "And that's a _helicopter_?" Rosie took a double take at the iron bird passing over the house.

The sausage legs were kicking speedily as the baby's eyes followed it across the sky "Coh-bah. Coh-bah. Coh-bah. Coh-bahhhhhhh." The helicopter went out of view and the baby started crying.

She soothed her granddaughter and wondered what was going on. "Don't worry, Muffin, I'll get you a helicopter…"

…

"Is that what I thought it was?" Gregory asked, drying his beard. Somehow he always managed to skip the queue for the bathroom.

"Yeah." Evelyn replied, completely unaware that the landing signalled a coup; a new order that usurping her of her powers.

 _7.17am, Hangar 4, Summerville (DYB) Airport, Summerville, South Carolina_

Lionel Fusco had been struggling to connect with his son all summer; a combination of hockey camp, new friends, secret girls with no names, a French-speaking stepdad with a paint gun collection and puberty had driven a wedge between them. But when Lee heard his dad had a bespectacled friend who walked with a limp who owned a helicopter, he would've met his dad at the moon for just one ride. "Nice landing, Glasses." He said with approval.

"Always a pleasure, Detective."

"You mean you've done this before? Without me?" Lee asked with equals parts interest and outrage.

Fusco patted his son on the shoulder. "Return my calls more often."

Lee's face went pink, not because he was embarrassed but because the Lara Croft look-a-like they rode with, who christened him _Curly Fries the II_ , took off her leather jacket and kissed the Belgian Malinois on the mouth. "I know, Bear; if we have to watch Captain America puke out his wedding vows, at least we have each other. Come on sexy."

 _7.50am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Cammie woke up on the wrong side of the bed, too late to get in the bathroom for the next 30 minutes and just early enough to go through Hamilton's phone while he was out jogging. In the 9 years they'd been together, she'd never been able to convince the portly man to take his health seriously, as he often told her, "I didn't marry a Southern woman, to go hungry." But in the last few months, he'd been swimming, golfing (not just for business) and jogging often. She scrolled through his emails as his fingers were too stubby for texting. _Orders…stock take…quarterly audit…meeting with a small chain of stores…dry cleaning…Nassau, Bahamas?_ She took a double take. He'd never taken her to the Bahamas though she'd have loved to go.

…

Dear Shayla,

In recognition of your Outstanding service to our company and in celebration of your Second year with us; please accept this pair of AirMerica flights to Nassau, Bahamas.

Sincerely Signed,

Hamilton A. Frasier.

…

Hamilton, ( _no greeting, what a floozie_ )

Thanks for the kind gesture. I could use some time off.

Shay ( _oh, so we're using nicknames here_ )

…

Shay, ( _wait? You too?_ )

Take your time. We couldn't have done it without you. ( _Done what? What the hell makes her so special_ )

H.

…

Cammie remembered Shayla, at least she did now she was all over her LinkedIn page. Shayla Johnson, his Executive Assistant turned Account Manager in under two years ( _what a freaking leap_ ), 30 years his junior, and soon-to-be dead.

 _8.20am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Tullie's open door policy didn't usually extend to pets. Not since her beloved cat, Whiskers, died five years ago. But this motley crew that called themselves friends of her niece and her niece's fiancé was much stranger than the dog that looked like something out of an Independence Day remake. The policeman and his son seemed normal, polite even, but the man with the glasses who spoke in riddles and the woman at her table eating venison stew from a small pot were just bizarre. "Where shall we put the ice sculpture?" Finch asked, confusing her.

"Ice sculpture?" She repeated, because it was summer in South Carolina and ice wasn't ice for long.

"Yes. It's two doves."

Evelyn didn't know they had visitors, so when she walked in to the kitchen and heard this man who was supposed to be John's boss talking as though he was driving this train she was taken aback. Because she hadn't thought of it first. "Harold?"

"Good morning, Ms Evelyn. You are, quite a vision this morning."

Because of her attitude, that did nothing for usual dietary requirement of compliments. "Good morning to you, too. I'm guessing that was your helicopter?"

Rosie raised her eyebrows at the sound of that. Even though she was on pie crust duty, she was impressed. "Yes, there were too many delays in the commercial system." That, and it was hard to fly coach as a fugitive. "I heard about the glitch with the wedding gown, hopefully the fireworks display will console the blushing Detective."

"Fireworks?" Cammie repeated from the doorway. "I thought this was a low-key affair."

"Well, I know John to be more high- _octane_ than low-key. Ms. Tulip, I hope you don't mind a marquee tent in your garden. I've asked the workers to be mindful of your foliage."

Finch had her at _foliage_. "You just do whatever you like, Harold." Cammie and Rosie drew in a sharp breath, with those words Tullie had inadvertently knighted him and completely deposed her sister.

 _8.56am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Cece's coral maxi dress was steamed and hanging up, waiting her the lone bridesmaid to put her curves into it. Beyond praying Big Reggie wouldn't show up looking for a place to lay his head and that she would have the strength to resist him on the off chance he did; all she wanted was for the day to go off without a hitch. After all, Josie really deserved it after being a cop on top of a divorcee and single mom for so long. And even though John was a problem, she couldn't argue that he was good to her cousin and nephew and that really counted for something. What she couldn't reconcile was where the marquee, chocolate fountains and dove cage had come from.

Joss stirred in the bed they shared last night, because she was superstitious, and could still hear the _Dru Hill_ songs ringing in her ears. Finally it was here; the day she was going to marry a man who had finally perfected the art of love instead over war.

 _10.36am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Even though he swore he couldn't be trusted, Uncle Sterling accepted John's offer to look under the hood of his trunk. _He didn't learn Mechanics at Boy Scouts either_. "Your friend with the funny walk," He started.

"Harold."

"Right. Harold. He must have a lot of pull to make all this happen?"

John threw the old man a bone. "He's a billionaire; he can make anything happen."

Uncle Sterling blinked. Again, he didn't know whether to believe this man or not. "All I want's for Josie and Taylor to be alright. So, say something."

"When Joss went after HR, she wouldn't let me help her. I can't tell you how many times she gave me the slip. _Me_."

"Sounds like Josie."

"But on the night she made the huge strike against them; she called me. I still don't know why 'cause it doesn't even matter. I love her so I was there. That's how it is between us. It just is. And, as for Taylor, I've got eyes on him in Atlanta. The less said about that, the better."

Uncle Sterling rubbed his beard and made an assessment before handing the mystery man the wrong wrench. "You're a smooth talking bastard, John."

"Thanks."

 _12.56pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

The kitchen was hot with the Low Country offerings the flower sisters were cooking. Being in close proximity, with Evelyn's attitude forming the baseline and Finch's special additions walking into the garden further showing her up; the spirit of petty started to take over. Tullie didn't mind how many nails, claws and talons came out because Jane, her special friend of 40 years came over with newspapers and scissors to help her restore the waterlogged plants. Cammie and Rosie gave her the side-eye on sight, under the guise of focusing on the Frogmore stew and their mother's rabbit pie. If the rumours were true, Jane was the reason Tullie's first and only marriage expired 28 years ago. There was no dramatic 'blow-out' or explosive ending, her union with Jacob Carmichael simply ceased to exist the day he realised his shy, reticent wife was only truly happy when she was in her garden, chatting with Jane. To this day, they had never as much as held hands in public but; if one knew where to look and the weather was right, one might find them on a bench at Azalea Park with one head resting on the other's shoulder.

"I don't remember Jane being on the list." Cammie spoke about her as though she wasn't standing there.

Shaw, who had been enjoying the snarkiness of the situation because she did snarky quite well, finished off another venison steak with hot sauce and thought aloud. "Looks like Jane's _always_ on the list."

Even though she had a sour taste in her mouth from the string quartet that was practising outside, Evelyn thought it was tacky for them to team up on Jane just because they failed to take down John and sink the wedding. "Oh, wind your neck in, Cammie; you'll get wrinkles.

"Impossible." Cammie scoffed, though it had hit harder that she let on and she resolved to massage her neck with that oil CeCe was always talking about.

 _1.11pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

True to his word, Taylor did what he should have done over a year ago and called the girl who was stuck to his membrane. Reggie even got dressed for the occasion, lint-rolling his cream suit pants and brushing his waves before he put the left earphone in.

"Taylor?" She wasn't expecting to hear from him at all by now, when the whole summer had gone by and he never drove the mile from his dad's house to hers.

The surprise in her voice made him feel small. Like he'd messed up. Because he had. "Yeah it's me…What's up?"

"Nothing much…just back on campus."

"Yeah? Cool…" The awkward silences felt so out-of-place because they never had those before. "So…" For some reason Reggie couldn't stop snickering. "I guess you like it there."

"I do…more than I don't."

He knew the feeling. Suddenly the idea that she would go to NYU with him seemed more and more of a childish dream; one to put away with the firefighter truck and Legos. Reggie poked him in the chest, to snap him out of whatever he was thinking about this girl who made him weak. "So…I was thinking…" Reggie shook his head in disappointment. "I should've come around…should've seen you…"

He laughed and snorted, alerting her to the eavesdropper on the line. "Is that Reggie?" She asked.

"Yeah, it's him."

"Still overcompensating?"

"For what?" Reggie asked, blowing his shoddy cover because he was unsure whether he should be offended or not.

"Pretty much." Taylor confirmed, shutting him up. Reggie punched him in the arm. "I just wanted to say…I was an ass."

"Is this your way of saying you're sorry?" She asked. Reggie shook his head emphatically; his cousin was _not_ gonna punk out for this girl, not on _his_ watch.

"No, it's not." He nodded with approval. "This is: I'm sorry." _Simp,_ he mouthed. Taylod didn't care because he could hear her smile. She didn't know what to say especially with an audience so she changed subject. "They're screening _Real Women have Curves_ tomorrow."

"Yeah?" He fell asleep watching it in her room and just remembers the girl going to the big city at the end.

"Yeah, so I don't know if I should watch it and be their resident 'Hisplainer' or go out for fro-yo instead."

"I vote fro-yo."

"You think?"

"Yeah, 'cause at least the headache's from the brain freeze."

Their inside joke went over Reggie's head and he felt like the third wheel instead of his cousin's ally. Whoever this girl was, when she laughed it made him want to laugh with her; and he couldn't stand it. "Yeah, I get you."

"Taylor wants you to come to Myrtle Beach for Spring Break." Reggie blurted out, out of nowhere.

"No I don't."

"I said you're coming so you're coming." Reggie informed him.

Taylor sighed because she could hear them. "Call you later?"

"Yeah."

The call had barely ended when Reggie started going in on him. " _Simp_. Simp, simp, simp. Watching the _Simp_ sons. King of _Simp_ ington."

"Is that the best you got?"

"President of _Simp_ eria. _Simp_ istani. Playing the _Simp_ s."

"Come on Reg, you can do better."

"Graduating class of _Simp_ ston University. Beethoven's _Simp_ hony. Fried _simp_ and grits. Fred _Simp_ stone." Taylor had to laugh, even at his own expense. "Lord of the _Simps_ : Russell Wilson."

"$87 Mil _and_ Ciara? I'll take it." Reggie ran out of insults for the time being. "Anyway, there's gotta be _some_ reason why all roads lead to Aleesha's apartment."

Reggie shrugged it off. "It's just somewhere to go."

"Yeah. _Every_ week…" Alijah and Ebony had been quite revealing when Taylor paid for the pizzas.

"Shut up."

"…Anytime you have a problem…"

Suddenly it wasn't a game anymore. "I can take you, Tay."

"…Anytime you need a-"

"Don't say it. I swear," Reggie balled up his fist.

Taylor laughed because he knew the feeling of having someone under your skin and not being able to fight it. "I invited her; she's behind you."

Reggie swung his head around to see no-one and nothing but the portrait of Aunt Tullie's dead Cheshire cat on the wall. When he punched Taylor in the chest, the pain was worth it.

 _2.00pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Harold Finch patted himself on the back, though he couldn't give his paramour the ceremony they talked about; he embedded elements of their dreams in his friend's wedding – with a twist. The marquee was lit with white and gold hanging lanterns and the string quartet played Stevie Wonder's You and I as Joss walked down the makeshift aisle on Taylor's arm. Evelyn looked on with venom and disapproval; these Uptown date night outfits and Joss' side-parting were not what she'd dreamed of…even if it was very cozy in there and the music was fantastic and somehow their relatives from California, Texas, both Carolinas and Colorado were there and she'd never thought of the chocolate fountains herself. Then Finch, the self-appointed and Internet-ordained officiant, took the mic (Evelyn hadn't thought of the PA system either).

"As Maya Angelou once wrote;

 _When you come to me, unbidden,_

 _Beckoning me_

 _To long-ago rooms,_

 _Where memories lie._

 _Offering me, as to a child, an attic,_

 _Gatherings of days too few._

 _Baubles of stolen kisses._

 _Trinkets of borrowed loves._

 _Trunks of secret words,_

 _I Cry."_

In his silence, actual tears started falling because you couldn't top Maya Angelou at a classy wedding and Evelyn's mistiness signalled the Wedding War of 2016 was lost to a spiky-haired orator in glasses. Because she had slipped Bear one of those gourmet cookies, and wasn't lost in the emotional sauce like everyone else; Shaw was the first to notice Big Reggie slip in the back of the marquee. Her Carter Fam app had him listed as: _asshole, non-alcoholic, absent_ so she knew he wasn't there to fight. Tullie spotted him next and thought just like a dog returning to its vomit, he was just looking for a place to lay his head and if her niece fell for it – and him – again; there was nothing anyone could do.

Gregory was enjoying the ceremony so far, because he knew experience was the best teacher for his wife and because John hit a home run with the trapezium-cut sapphire and diamond 3-stone white gold ring that would have tongues wagging about his fat pockets rather than that divisive manilla folder which mysteriously gone missing. Finally, Evelyn had a win because she always approved of jewellery especially expensive shiny jewellery she could rub in her sisters' faces.

"Joss, with this ring; I promise to protect you," _with firearms,_ "to share with you," _classified government information,_ "to confide in you," _secrets bordering on treason,_ "to support you," _'cause everybody needs an assist sometimes,_ "to stand with you" _against all our enemies, corrupt cops, black Ops officials etc._ "And to love you as long as we both shall live."

"John, with this ring; I promise to protect you," _from whichever government agency's after you this week,_ "to share with you," _classified police database files,_ "to confide in you," _secrets bordering on treason,_ "to support you," _'cause I'm a better shot, come on, let's face it,_ "to stand with you" _against all our enemies, corrupt cops, black Ops officials etc._ "And to love you as long as we both shall live."

Finch cleared his throat and sniffed. "I now pronounce you…" Fusco sat on the edge of his seat because he couldn't wait to hear what name he was using this week. "Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols." Sterling and Cammie gave Rosie the death glare for making them look like melodramatic fools. Evelyn got a small victory after all, at least they could share some of this egg on her face.


	11. Masterpiece

_A/N: I was so close to naming this chapter 'M-word, 4 syllables'. Finch continues his assault (though he doesn't even know it) and the string quartet keeps playing._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 11: Masterpiece

 _Monday 5_ _th_ _September 2016, 4.40pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Cece watched John obliterate the myth about bad dancers being bad lovers as they swayed to the string quartet's rendition of _Guns N Roses_ ' November Rain. The general consensus was the mystery man had two left feet and no-one knew what song this was, but Joss looked happier than they'd ever seen her so something must have been right. There was little time for judgement because Finch kept the champagne flowing.

Gregory offered his wife a glass for her troubles, which she turned down. "I don't feel like drinking anymore."

"But you won. I thought you'd want to toast."

She leaned closer and whispered. "I didn't win the way I _wanted_ to win, Greg."

He held back laughter because she was never satisfied. "Does it really matter?"

She couldn't believe he had the gall to ask, like it was up for debate. "Yes. Yes, it does. A _whole_ lot."

"Okay, well, they're heading back to the city tonight so you might as well say something nice." She wasn't impressed. "Yes, you have to."

"Fine." She sipped the champagne; it was the best she'd ever had and it made her madder.

 _4.46pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

After laying low through the ceremony and making small talk with some distant second cousins who were old enough to know who he was, Big Reggie 'surprised' Cece by asking her if the band knew any stepping music at the bar. The band started playing _Stevie Wonder_ 's I wish and the sharpness made it sound like they were in a country barn. It didn't stop Uncle Sterling from hitting the dancefloor though. "What're you doing here?" She asked, wished she'd asked for rum served neat instead of with coke.

"I couldn't leave like that." By like that, he meant with her hand print on his face and LaDonna's voice in her ears.

"LaDonna still looking for you?"

He rubbed his chin and she knew he was about to lie. She was sure if she asked John, he'd kick his ass for her. But it was his wedding day. Big Reggie wished he could make her forget what she'd heard. "I meant it when I said I was thinking of moving back here."

"What's the point? It's not for me, and it's not for Reggie, either. It's for you. So you can have some place to go." That place to go was at the meeting of her thighs, but that went without saying.

He revealed the truth. "They offered me a job at SC State. Assistant Football Coach. That's why I was at the game."

She needed a drink, an intravenous one; because at the time, she thought he had finally come to his senses about his son. "At least you'll see your son more often on the _field_. You gonna tell him?"

"I was thinking-"

" _I_ would do it. Right." She couldn't believe it, even though her disbelief was the source of her problems. She couldn't believe she had played the fool for him again. _Kenan and Kel_ could've seen the ending. "So you're not even gonna _try_ with-"

He cut her off with a kiss and though her right mind knew she shouldn't; it sent her pulsating all over. After all, she knew what else those lips could do and he couldn't possibly hurt her anymore; not now. As much as she hated him in that moment and hated herself in many moments after; her muddled mind went straight to throwing it back for Big Reggie like he was the Head Baseball Coach of Yale University. She kissed him back, creating a rod for her own back. And it didn't go unseen.

Taylor knew he'd spend the next day nursing his cousin back to health the minute that 4-syllable M word flew from Reggie's lips. His respect for his mother drained quickly like the lives in an old arcade video game, as she let his no-show father kiss her; not-so-different from the way he got into Aleesha's apartment the previous week. But when he saw Big Reggie do it; it looked different – wrong even – and that left him confused as well as disgusted with them both. "Hey…" Taylor tried in vain to calm him down but he couldn't hear whatever he was saying because his eyes were burning red with tears of anger and hatred.

 _6.37pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

"You seen my cufflinks?" Hamilton asked, zipping his suitcase shut. He was always the first to leave the party.

"Sure." Cammie passed him the small package wrapped in a napkin.

He barely recognised the charred frogs, just a speck of green was left to convey her message. Amongst family, Cammie was known for her vindictive streak; a bleached shirt was much too obvious. "What'd you call this?"

"Justice." She replied, as though she was reading off a grocery list. "No, _karma_."

"More like crazy." He shot back; he really liked those cufflinks.

"Don't you dare call me crazy, you're a liar and a cheat. Scuttling around like _rats_ , calling it work. And you gave her a va _cation_ , is that where you were? Is that why it took you a week to drive _3 hours_?"

He sat down on the bed, forcing the mattress down on his side. "You think I'm cheating with Shayla? She's younger than my son."

"That makes it all the more disgusting. 2 tickets to the Bahamas… _never took me to no Goddamn Bahamas_ …" Her voice trailed off as she plotted murder.

He coughed with disbelief. "She's engaged. And she needs the tickets for their honeymoon."

"Nice try, _H_." It came as "Haitch" with a hiss on the end.

"I can't afford to give her a raise and Carolyn got me one of those corporate discounts. Ask her. And as for my… _late_ arrival, your family brings out the worst in you and I'd rather not watch the Willie Gibson's daughters cat-claw and snipe at each other and call it a vacation."

"You called her _Shay_."

"Everyone does. It's on her licence plate."

She dragged a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tried to save face. "Well, when you put it like that; it almost sounds plausible."

"Camellia, we vowed to live _unhappily_ ever after 'til death do us part; why would I give all that up for someone who doesn't know who Willona is?" She knew this miserable, ongoing boredom called marriage was their lot because they made it that way. "Now, if you're done, I'm leaving at 7. If you want to come with, the passenger seat's empty."

"Just a Southern Gentleman, Hamilton."

"I'm from Indiana."

She wouldn't dare laugh at his jokes to encourage him but a faint smile broke through. "My bag is already packed." He took his cue to carry her tan leather tote bag and the matching trolley-dolly to the car. "You owe me a trip to the Bahamas, _H_."

"And you owe me a pair of cufflinks."

"Those tacky things? How about I get you some silver button ones instead?"

He sighed. "Just make them skulls."

"Must you be so crass?"

 _6.51pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Evelyn helped herself to another one of 'those chocolate fountain fruit kebab things' making three in total. "Anyone would think you were having fun." Joss teased, skipping the chocolate for the imported French champagne. At Uncle Sterling's request, that string quartet was playing Cou it be I'm falling in love by _The Spinners_ , on a loop, so he could school the young'uns.

"It's a-" She cleared her throat from all that pride. "Very nice reception."

Joss raised one eyebrow higher that the other. "Just nice, Ma?"

"Who's side are you on, Jocelyn? I could've done this for you _if you had let me_."

That guilt trip wasn't flying. "Really?"

"Of course." She neglected to mentioned she'd have needed another hundred thousand dollars to put up a marquee with its own solar electricity supply, alcohol on tap and all those _fancy-schmancy_ things Harold thought of first that pissed her off. "I would've been your _personal_ Mindy Weiss. Starting with that dress."

Joss knew how much the dinner dress offended her and that made her feel like she was dripping in liquid gold. "Great, because Harold wants you to _front and centre_ for the firework display at 8!" Evelyn's face cracked like a manhandled Faberge egg. "The theme is 'Sydney Opera House at New Years'!" Joss said excitedly, as her mother shrunk with defeat and she stuffed her mouth with confection.

 _7.01pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Gregory spotted his protégé drinking something that didn't look like soda. Overall he thought Taylor looked more relaxed instead of walking around with his shoulders high and his chest out like he had been for over a year. "So you talked?"

"Yeah, and you were right. _Again_."

Gregory smiled at the youngblood who had so much to learn. "I didn't tell you, to be right. I told you so you could be happy for her."

"I _am_ happy for her. And I would've been happy for her at NYU too, but, _whatever_."

He chuckled at Taylor's attempt to pretend he didn't care when he definitely did. "Whatever indeed. So you're ready to go back to Atlanta?"

"Yeah. All packed and everything. Dad's taking me to the airport."

"Good, because if your mother ever finds out you had a hand in this; there won't be a place on Earth you can hide from her wrath."

Taylor shuddered at the thought of being mollywopped by his mother. "Tell me about it."

"Where is Young Reggie?"

"Haven't seen him since…"

"Since?" Gregory prodded.

"Since he freaked out 'cause Uncle Reggie did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Aunt CeCe. But I got the keys for the Ducati off him."

Gregory nodded. "So you see how self-destruction is a generational curse." That wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. "Let's go find him before he does something less-than-smart. To much is given, Taylor."

Taylor sighed at all this caping. "Yeah."

 _7.15pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

If it wasn't for the disapproving looks of relatives who knew who he was and the bemusements of relatives who didn't, Big Reggie wouldn't have convinced her to leave the reception so they could 'go somewhere and talk'. At least that's what she told herself. 'Somewhere' was Aunt Tullie's two-car garage, where he'd parked his red sports car.

"I really shouldn't." CeCe said, not even three hours since he'd walked back into her life uninvited, just so she could look back and say she said it. He was kissing on her neck and like college CeCe in _the old, old times,_ she blamed it on her hormones and the alcohol.

"I'm sorry, C." His big, leathery hands fondled over her back and backside looking for a zip that didn't exist because it wass a maxi dress. _Dumbass football players_. "You know I'm sorry. You forgive me, don't you?" He asked, giving her breasts a squeeze, making her legs squeeze together.

"Mmmmmmmmmm." He lifted her onto the hood of his car; CeCe always gave the green light. They both knew how this story went; CeCe couldn't fight it; she couldn't stop playing _Dumb and Dumber_ for this man. She couldn't hit the 'off' switch. She couldn't get him out of her head. She couldn't tell him no, when her body was saying yes, yes, yes, yes, yes more times than a young, pre-litigation _Destiny's Child_. And when he called her baby more times than an _Ashanti-Keith Sweat_ mashup she caved because she wanted so desperately to be somebody's baby tonight. When he finally gave up on unzipping the non-existent zip and she heard that familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, she used that chance to get off the hood so the record would clearly state she got off the hood. But Big Reggie took this to mean she wanted to go back to their college days, where he spread her chest across that hood 'til she could see the backseat through the window.

Luckily, CeCe didn't have to rely on her dopamine-laced reasoning to get her out of the situation that led to nowhere because an angel was looking out for her. An angel with thick black eye liner, muted mauve lipstick and a Belgian Malinois for back-up. Not to forget the Revolver she shot him with in the ankle, bringing Big Reggie tumbling in a big fall to the ground. "What the hell? You shot him." CeCe asked, spotting the woman with the vacuum for a stomach leaning against the wall, waving. How hadn't she noticed they had an audience?

"Look CeCe; you're too hot to be that dumb. He's not even trying." Shaw advised, wishing she'd used the Taser Finch said wasn't appropriate for the wedding.

Big Reggie writhed on the ground, hamming up an injury that was more cosmetic than anything. "We should call someone." CeCe suggested. "He'll bleed out." The marquee was like a firefly in the dark and she didn't want to be the one to walk in with bad news,

"No, we shouldn't 'cause he's an ass. And no, he won't 'cause it's a rubber bullet. Now _Wedgie_ can wobble his way to the car and haul ass before I put some real bullets in this sissy gun. You're welcome, by the way. You should get a dog; _way_ more loyal."

 _8.00pm, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

" _Oooooooooooooooooooh_ " and " _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah_ " didn't cover the splendour of the kaleidoscope images in the sky from the 12-minute, $40,000 firework display that had Uncle Sterling, his greatest detractor, singing John's praises. People from the surrounding neighbourhoods had flocked to Tullie's street to see that the world wasn't ending and that Christmas, Easter and Halloween had all come at once, right there in Summerville. Tullie was glad to share the magic with her dear Jane and a classy man who knew the difference between the Rose of Sharon and the Hibiscus they revived early. That day; they had equally made her happy.

Gregory and Taylor propped Reggie up, not that he could make out the fireworks with his blurry vision. Rosie held her hands over her granddaughter's ears as she drooled with excitement. Cammie and Hamilton missed it completely as they were somewhere on the I-77 arguing about the radio station. And Evelyn, after realising it was Harold Finch's world and she was just a mere mortal living it, threw in the towel and poked Uncle Sterling in the ribs. "Now what was all that trouble for, Sterling? When I _said_ my daughter was getting married, I _meant_ my daughter was getting married. Bet you never seen a rock like that in your _life_ …"

Joss couldn't believe they made it to the finish line. Here she was, standing in the arms of a dragon-slayer who'd borrowed the name of a famous British department store to give them a new start. "Where are we off to next, John?"

He literally wiped the sweat from his brow. "Home."


	12. Mine

_A/N: Evelyn will not be with us for a while; she's somewhere licking her wounds as Gregory fishes her participation ribbon out of the trash._

 _It's about time we head back to New York._

 _FYI: Whale is a casino term or a high-roller/big spender, "How, Sway?" is a soundbite from the megalomaniac Kanye West, and in honour of the High Priestess of Hip-Hop Soul, Mary J Blige, and her troubles; the first line of this chapter is for her._

 _There's a lot going on in the world that should **not** be happening, especially for my African-American readers, so hopefully this can make you laugh and smile._

 _As always, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 12: Mine

 _Tuesday 6_ _th_ _September 2016, 1.14am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

After 11 days of sacrifice and strife, John decided war was better than facing off with Joss' family. He reflected on how much he'd underestimated the challenge, as he downed two short glasses of bourbon; one to keep him awake and one to put him to sleep with his woman…his wife. He had to remind himself that that was true. Joss was wrapped up in a cocoon of Egyptian cotton sheets with the man in the birthday suit, floating on a bed of clouds as their suite looked out into the New York city skyline. He kissed her on the forehead though she couldn't feel it, not after being on the ropes for that long. John sighed. _Finally…home_.

 _8.25am, Aunt Tullie's House, Summerville, South Carolina_

Taylor should've known there was more to Aunt CeCe's southern breakfast bonanza than her generosity. She eagerly watched him eat the eggs, bacon, grits, sausage and biscuits because she needed something in exchange. After Big Reggie sped off because ' _that crazy bitch with the dog shot me_ ' and she witnessed her son missing the porcelain and throwing up in the bathtub instead; she wasn't up to dropping that particular bomb on him. But she knew someone who could. "Uhh, Taylor…" He knew that tone. It was the tone people often used with him. It was the _Taylor-can-I-crash-here-til-my-student-loan-comes-in_ tone, the _Taylor-help-me-out-tell-her-I-was-here-all-night_ tone, the _Taylor-wear-this-cape-and-like-it_ tone. "Your uncle is moving back home."

He raised his eyebrows in shock and exclaimed, " _Home_ -home?" The only thing that could come of Cousin Reggie and Uncle Reggie living in the same home was fireworks; and not _Sydney Opera House at New Years'_ kind.

"No, baby. Columbia, home. He got at new job coaching the Bulldogs."

He knew where she was heading. This was the lead-in; the set-up for justifying why he should do whatever to save someone else. "I can't tell Reggie."

She sighed, but had no intentions of giving up. "Can't you? He _listens_ to you." _He really doesn't._ But he couldn't tell her that, because then he'd have to tell her he was her son's designated driver when he got so liquored up he forgot his last name. "Tay, you are very smart. And mature. And you _know_ what it's like to have your father back in your life."

That gut punch landed. "…But this is different."

The upspoken truth was that his father _wanted_ to be a part of his son's life; his normal, everyday, pedestrian, cereal-eating, assignment-writing, mediocre-soccer-playing, teenage-angsting life. Big Reggie just wanted reflected glory…and pizza. "You know what it means to forgive." That one hit Taylor between the eyes. "…If everything I've heard about you and Paul is true."

It wasn't fair; but life wasn't fair. He felt that magnetic pull again, that thing that led to him; knee-deep in someone else's troubles. But he couldn't _not_ help Reggie. "Okay I'll tell him."

"Thank you. You know I hope one day, my Reggies can have what you all have." Taylor believed in that as much as he believed that was really Green Lantern taking pictures at his 8th birthday party. "And there's one more thing; there's a scrimmage next week and I'm sure Big Reggie will be there. Heads up?" She patted him on the shoulder and went out for some air after dropping another bomb.

 _8.30am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

Joss wiped the drool from her mouth and answered the ringing phone. "We have breakfast for Mr and Mrs Nichols, housekeeping observed a Do not Disturb sign so-"

"It's okay. Bring it up."

Besides the magazine on the breakfast table which she shoved under the pillow and her nakedness which she covered with one of those fancy _His_ hotel dressing gowns, there was nothing to hide. John had no intention of putting a shirt on so he kept on reading the newspaper to catch up on what he'd missed on their so-called vacation. "Hey, what's for breakfast?"

"Chocolate." He replied with a smirk. Those blue eyes could pierce through paper and burn a hole in her skin.

"I'm intrigued."

"You should be."

 _8.57am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

It wasn't the kind of breakfast or chocolate she was expecting. After putting away two pain au chocolats and washing them down with Italian cappuccinos, Joss was lying on her front, naked, as John painted something unseen on her back. It was warm to the touch until it hardened. Surprisingly, John didn't have a sweet tooth. "Wanna hear a story?"

"Sure." She replied. "One I've never heard before."

"Okay. In my Zack Morris phase, I got into a fight and that's how I ended up in the Army."

"I know; the judge said _boot camp or prison_."

"Well, what you don't know is what caused the fight in the first place. At the group home, there was a lot of hazing except we didn't call it that back then."

"John-"

"Not for me because I smashed an egg on one of their heads in my first week."

"I see."

"Anyway there was a new kid who was about 13 and we were all about 16, 17. 3 jackasses teamed up on him, messed with him, and I couldn't take it so I lifted a wrench from the toolbox and hit one of them in the head. When he fell down and didn't get up, our home leader thought I killed him and called the police. He had blurry vision for months. So the court wanted to charge me with assault with a deadly weapon but the judge decided the Army would straighten me out and here I am."

"Yep, straight as an arrow." She joked. "Is that why you chose Morris? 'Cause under all that craziness is a trigger-happy good guy?"

"When you put it like that…"

"John, I don't care what they think about you. My mom thinks you're an ex-U.S. Marshal turned Private Investigator and my son respects you; that's enough for me. Now, why'd you tell me that story instead of saying how beautiful I am from your view?

"I wanted to tell you something you don't already know."

She smiled into her pillow. "You got all the lines huh, John?"

"Uncle Sterling called me a smooth talking bastard.

She threw her head back at him, whipping her hair around. "Really? That means he likes you."

He blinked with surprise. "Guess I did something right. You think he'll get over the doe?"

"The less we talk about that, the better. What happened to the little guy?"

"I don't know. It's not like I ever went back. I wanted them to stop messing with him so I hope it worked."

"Me too. What are you painting back there?"

He took a picture on a polaroid. "Never mind."

"John, I have a right to know. What if the picture gets out?"

"No-one's gonna identify your ass but me, Joss. Lie still. For the record, the only lines I have are the ones I'm gonna lick off you right now."

 _11.22am, Aunt Tullie's house, Summerville, South Carolina_

Reggie tried to show his face, even though his head was spinning. He saw the girl who looked like a nerdy version of the hot girl in Sin City on Taylor's tablet, over his cousin's shoulder. "Want me to pour you some simp juice?"

Taylor knew he shouldn't be looking. Especially at that weird white guy in cosplay in her pictures. He wondered if she was dating him or if he was just hanging around in the friend zone biding his time. Or if he was a study partner like he pretended to be until she told him to 'stop looking at her like that'. Either way he hated him on sight, even if his Sarutobi Asuma costume was on point. Reggie sat next to him on the sofa, because that helped the walls to stop moving.

"Uhhh…your dad's coaching at SC state this season and moving back here. Well not _here-here_ , but you know what I mean. And your mom left you a plate." Reggie nodded silently and Taylor naively thought he was taking it better than expected. Until he said something under his breath that rhymed with _buck that trigga_. "Reg." Taylor tried but his cousin didn't want to hear it.

Reggie's nostrils flared. "I knew he wanted-" He sucked his teeth and had a conversation with himself and there went that 4-syllable M-word that his grandma Cammelia would've cut a switch for if they were just a few years younger.

"So what are you gonna do? 'Cause you can't get wasted, go off at the scrimmage _and_ keep your scholarship."

"I _know_. I'll handle it."

"How?" Taylor was fascinated because if he meant to continue the way he'd been going; he was headed somewhere terrible.

"What are you, Dr Phil or sum'n?" Reggie tried to change subject. "Aleesha's having this thing tomorrow…"

Taylor knew nothing good could come from going back to the pot pourri apartment either. "No."

"Why not?"

Taylor bit the bullet and said the thing that was obvious. "'Cause you can't use Aleesha as 'someplace to go'."

Reggie blinked at the light of truth. "But I don't-"

"You do."

"Come on, Sway."

" _Yeah_ , you do."

"But it's not even like-" When Taylor stopped arguing and gave him a meme face of disbelief, he knew it was true. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Taylor knew he wasn't not ready to admit his feelings for Aleesha if it took _him_ a year to admit he was missing his ex-girlfriend. So he went the humorous route. "Not Aleesha?"

Reggie considered it for about four seconds. "What about-"

" _Please_ don't say Alijah or Ebony. They're nice. And they're _roommates._ "

Reggie sighed and scratched his neck because the idea of cutting off from Aleesha was giving him anxiety. He didn't know what drew him to her was the same thing that drew his father to his mother and the habit of coming back over-and-over empty-handed was something that would fill the pockets of a therapist in the future. "Okay," He rationalised. "Brandy." Taylor hid his face in his hands from frustration. "What? I'm _trying_." Taylor shrugged his shoulders because he actually was, which is more than could be said for Uncle Reggie.

 _10.57am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

"I did _not_ fall asleep, John." Joss insisted, determined to win this argument. If you could call it that.

He wasn't interested in putting up a fight, not when she was walking around in the _His_ robe; ignoring the fact the arms were too long. If it was up to him the monogram would've read _Mine_. "Okay, the time just _ran away_ from you."

She yawned again. "Blame it on the family. They can really wear you out, huh?"

He didn't need reminding. "You think?"

Joss poured two flutes of champagne. "What made you come down there in the first place? Besides the arm-twisting and the cattle-prod coercion _and_ the Chinese burn from Ma."

Taylor's face flashed in his mind but he would never give him up like that. He'd heard Joss was quite creative with her son so he foresaw lots of noodles and cereal in the poor college student's future if he did. "My sense of adventure."

"Yeah, right. Montana's more your speed; if you wanted to hunt you could've killed a _moose_. Really, what made you come?"

She never got her answer because John's burner phone went off. The third party in their marriage raised his head above the parapet so there had to be a decent reason why. After all, he'd landed on the helipad on the roof so they could have something of a honeymoon. "Finch?" John asked, drinking half a glass.

"Good morning Mr Reese…Morris… _Nichols_. And congratulations."

He dodged Joss' eager ear. "Thanks."

"I know it's not the best timing,"

"But?" John prodded. Off-days weren't his thing and he'd spent more time in Summerville than he's had off since they first met.

"There's a high-stakes poker game taking place later on, on the 18th floor."

"How much is it worth?" Joss raised an eyebrow; she hated being kept out of the loop.

"There's no money involved, just high-priced goods. I got you a seat at the table for the princely sum of a Feregham Sarouk Persian rug."

John didn't know what that was, only that it probably cost a fortune. "Gotta dust off the old hand. It's been a while since I played."

"Actually, John, I'd like you to l _ose,_ just lose. This is not _a doe, a deer_ situation."

John stared at Joss and put him on loudspeaker. "They told you too?"

"Ms Tulip is delightful, she understood your need to overachieve is rooted in insecurity."

Joss snorted. "Excuse me?" John asked.

"It meansh she knowsh shyour gun'sh shmaller than mine." Shaw's muffled voice – her eating voice – made sense. She was scoffing down venison stew on bruschetta while Bear gnawed on the tough steak on the floor at her loft.

"And then there's that pesky matter of Ms Morgan." Finch broke the news to a larger audience than expected.

"Zoe?" Joss asked, thinking this was _not_ the day to hand her husband over to _Legs_ , as Fusco affectionately called her behind her back, before the ink was dry on their marriage certificate.

"Ms Morgan's client will be playing today. Senator of Michigan, Raymond Campbell. You _can_ beat him. He's innocent. But you must lose overall."

"Who's the whale?" John asked.

"His Royal Highness Prince Farazmon Shaveer or _Faz_ as he's affectionately called by his colleagues at Cornell University. He's 20, full of hubris and will be playing for an illegally-trafficked white Bengal tiger."

"Can't he just buy one?" Joss asked, as Taylor had showed her a Big Cats of Instagram mini-doc once.

"Well, I did say hubris." Joss downed a glass of champagne. The news went down better that way. "Faz suffered a heartbreak last semester; the pain of unrequited love. It was the first time in his life he couldn't have what he wanted."

Joss remembered how Taylor has moped and snapped and moved around in a mannish fashion of all year over Bella and there wasn't even another guy on the horizon. Not that she knew of. "Who's he gonna _feed_ to the tiger, Finch?" John stared at her, amazed she skipped all the steps straight to homicide, even on their honeymoon.

"Nasir Chehna, 21, also Iranian-born, raised in Dearborn and Detroit, Michigan. He thinks he's been invited to Faz's off-campus "kickback". For one."

Joss sighed. "Fine. I wouldn't want my son served up as dinner."

"But you hate Zoe." Shaw said out-of-turn.

"I don't _hate_ Zoe." Joss said, convincing no-one and fooling no-one at all.

"I can hate her for you." Shaw offered.

"I think you should stick to hating Big Reggie. Appreciate it though. And your aim." Shaw felt the closest thing to fuzzy inside, like she just bit into one of those electric cable sweets.


	13. Mammal

A/N: This is an homage to their date in Body Count Ch50, namely because I don't think they would actually go on dates. #SexyTime #BengalTiger #MemoryFoam #Berries #Eggs #OystersandWine #Jasmine

As always, enjoy.

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Chapter 13: Mammal

 _Monday 5_ _th_ _September, 11.12am, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

After Finch's call, Joss declared that they had until the clock struck 12 to make the most of their short-lived crazy-sexy-cool honeymoon until she turned into a poker-playing pumpkin; especially since it was on Finch's dime. While Mrs Nichols lounged on the chaise longue in the _His_ robe making orders and booking spa treatments on the phone; in came the tray of berries, oysters and red wine from the concierge while Mr Nichols lathered up and shaved.

"No eggs?" He asked, with the same look in his eye that wore out the memory foam pillow.

Joss posed a philosophical question as the _His_ robe dropped to the floor. "Who needs eggs when we've got berries?"

From that fateful night in November 2013 when Joss lifted her top to reveal her IED scar to the time that followed, John had become acquainted with all of them; the crescent shaped Caesarean scar on her lower abdomen, the bullet wound scar in her chest courtesy of the not-so-dearly departed Officer Simmons and the faint glass cut scar on the back of her neck for jumping in one of John' signature all-hell-breaks-loose pool hall brawls. But today was different because it became clear he was the one who'd be leaving with scars. He always credited Joss as an enthusiastic lover, and didn't mind that possessive lip-biting as long as she didn't break the skin, but her rounded manicured nails were dragging down his back like a punishment. Ironically, the man who coined the phrase, "things that feel good and hurt at the same time," was killing her softly with his strokes; drumming her back into the chaise longue and practically through the ceiling into the suite below. Why? Because 12 o'clock was nigh.

 _1.49pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

Joss snatched all the cards impatiently; John had just thrown down three jacks even though he promised to throw the game. Over Eggs Florentine and pancakes she tried the simple approach of teaching him the worst hands as he obviously knew the best ones. But that didn't work because his name was John. "Have you _ever_ heard of losing? It's like winning but _not_."

He grinned because she was annoyed and her nostrils were flaring involuntarily so he couldn't take her seriously. "Okay, let's try again."

"If you pull out two Aces I'll…" She reconsidered the punitive approach because pain wasn't a deterrent for him. "…D'you know what? I won't cause you'd like that."

"I'd like…you to get your hair wet."

She resisted the temptation. "I am; in the bubble bath I'm having while you play. Now _throw_ the game, John. It's not that hard."

He sighed. "It really is."

"That's your big…fat…ego talking."

"I thought you liked my big…fat… _ego_."

She didn't have a snappy one-liner to outdo his, especially when his big fat ego looked good to her right now, so she dealt their hands instead. "Let's focus, 'cause we all know you need practice…"

The faux-pas at Eastatoe Creek lingered over them. "Are you _ever_ gonna let that go?"

"Pssshhhh. We're married; I'm gonna hold onto it for life and use it my advantage."

"So when's the next trip to Summerville? I vote 2020."

She laughed because that was one year less than she wanted. "2020 it is. See? 6 of Spades, 6 of Diamonds. I probably lost. Now you try…" He shook his head. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"4 of a kind." John said with victory, putting down a 7 in each suit and the Queen of Clubs.

 _This guy…_

 _5.02pm, East 141_ _st_ _Street, Bronx, New York_

Fusco tried his luck at the local convenience store with some lottery tickets, scratch offs and snacks Shaw's sedan on the corner blew his plans of a nice evening to dust. "What's on the menu, tonight?" He asked, sliding into the passenger's side.

"Bacon cheeseburgers, curly fries and possible death."

"Who's our suspect?"

"Some college kid with a girl-sized chip on his shoulder." Shaw fished through his brown paper bag, underwhelmed by his chips. "Flaming hot? Sissy." He wished he could give her a scotch bonnet pepper. "How's Raisin?"

He corrected her for the umpteenth time. "You mean _Hazel_. She's fine."

"You didn't bring her to Bummerville."

He scratched off his tickets, saving the strawberry one for last. "I woulda had to explain who the _groom_ is, who you _all_ are besides Carter. Anyway I heard you got some action in the garage."

Shooting Reggie was the highlight since she didn't like music that didn't have shrill, 2-minute electric guitar solos. "I _was_ the action in the garage. Ever been to the circus?"

He thought it was an odd question, but he went with it. "Once, when I was a kid. A neighbour took all of us kids; I'd never seen an elephant dance before."

"Hmm. How about a bear?"

"Don't remember, why?"

She sped off. "No reason."

 _6.17pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

It had been a while since John last saw Zoe, and she didn't know if the wedding band on John Hayworth's fourth finger was real or part of the cover. But underneath the cologne she picked up on a scent that she was fond of; jasmine. "Senator Campbell, John Hayworth. John's an art dealer, impressionist mainly, but he has a great appreciation for Middle Eastern art. Senator Campbell just secured a large investment for a regeneration project bringing 300 jobs to Detroit." She neglected to say the Senator was caught with his pants down just a year ago.

 _6.18pm Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

Joss was sensitive to one man's touch but this woman was working all her kinks out on the massage table. "Mmmmmmmmmmmm." She groaned, letting out the tension of all her relatives as Hirai kneaded her back with her knuckles. "Yesssssssssssssss…"

 _9.59pm, Cayuga Prime Apartments, Cayuga Heights, New York_

Although she drove him nuts when she used his body as a shield, Fusco didn't mind having Shaw as a partner as long as she filled him in. Sitting through her jarring playlist had eroded his patience and understanding. "We've been here for an hour and I'm all outta Cheetos. Who are we waiting for? 'Cause I can't see any college kids affording this place."

She turned down the music. "We're waiting for Kibble to show up."

"Kibble?"

"Yeah, and the Prince. Oh, and Paws." The blank expression on his face showed she wasn't the facilitator. "The prince hates Kibble 'cause Kibble stole his never-was-never-will-be girlfriend so now he's gonna set Paws on Kibble 'cause he's a sore loser. And a big loser. Just a loser in general."

Surprisingly he understood her. "Paws? A cat? What is it? One of those fancy hybrids? Half-cat, half-leopard?"

"No, just half-Bengal tiger and half-Bengal tiger." She explained.

"You _gotta_ be kidding me." The last Bengal tiger he saw was Shere Khan at the movies with Hazel just because she thought Idris Elba's voice was sexy. _A $35 snoozefest_ is what he called it, to himself of course.

"Oh, and it's black and white not orange."

"One day, you're gonna call me to go catch a tiger or free a felon or break into a federal bank and I won't be there." He informed her, ripping open a pack of gummy bears from her glove compartment out of spite.

"You know what, _Lionel_? You don't have to be mean." She replied, taking the food violation personally. "And yes you will 'cause _Raisin_ 's as boring as Nursing Home TV…" She made a snoring sound for emphasis. "Deep down, you love it 'cause you're just like me…just five years behind the curve at the gun range."


	14. Muse

_A/N: Firstly, thanks for reading. I can't reply to reviews directly atm (site issue) but I see them all and PM where I can. Secondly, I don't know how long or short this will be so I'm taking it like Body Count and letting it write itself. Thirdly, this Shaw/Fusco banter is for **SWWoman** who requested it. And lastly and completely off-topic, if you don't know I heart **A Different World** where've you been? I wrote Gina in at where I think she'd be today which leaves just Dorian, Lena and Terrence (who I don't care about, sorry, not sorry). I think Jaleesa would be a talk show host/producer and divorcee._

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 14: Muse

 _Tuesday 6_ _th_ _September 2016, 10.03pm, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

With her client in the hole to the tune of a custom $28,000 watch and John playing the worst she'd ever seen him, Zoe Morgan wasn't having a good night. Senator Campbell had given up on playing and was off doing something in the bathroom she'd have to clean off the counter herself. While she was getting tired of the fixing game, and babysitting badly-behaved men with too much to lose, John looked better that she'd ever seen him. His beard was speckled with more white than she remembered but there was a more boyish look in his eyes, like he'd lost ten years in age in as many months. Faz was getting impatient because he'd lost two hands and he could feel the tiger slipping through his fingers. John grouped his cards by suit and couldn't ignore the four faceless spades; 10, 9, 8, 7 and the Jack of Spades on the table. This was one of those moments that was defined by what happened in just 7 seconds; the time it took for a shot of whiskey to go down his throat.

 _10.43pm, Hotel Trombone, Broadway, New York_

After being pampered on her benefactor's dime, and ordering things she couldn't pronounce from the back of the menu just because, Joss perched her polished and pedicured feet up on the end of the couch for _The Jerk_ ; relieved the rest of The Team was doing all the dirty work for once. That was hours ago. And when she forced one eye open she got a glimpse of something horrifying.

"The hell…?" Its eyes turned to meet hers, sending shivers down her spine. The creepy porcelain doll with motion-sensor eyes that followed hers sat on the table. "What kinda Devil-doll is this?"

He cleared his throat, thinking if she focused on the doll she might forget he could've come home with the Bengal tiger currently in transit to Ithaca with its new foolish owner. "It's from the Helena collection of Maudlin porcelain dolls, a collector's item because of its-"

"Get rid of it, John." She insisted, leaping off the sofa when the eyes shot in his direction.

"How?"

She thought on her feet. "Throw it over the balcony."

A certain singer came to mind. "Joss, I can't throw a _baby_ over the balcony. Unless you want your co-workers to meet me for the first time."

She burst out in a fit of laughter. "First time." And another. She threw the breakfast tablecloth over the baby so it could see them and they couldn't see it. "Fine. Devilina can stay the night but I'm praying before we go to sleep. Just a mess… _Girl Chuckie_."

"Go to sleep, Joss?" He repeated. "You've been knocked out _all_ day."

She could've blamed him but that was too easy. "I earned it. It's my reward for not shooting when I had the chance."

"I love it when you talk like that. That robe looks good on you."

"You're just saying that." She was still flattered. "I should've called Fusco to give him the heads up about the Jungle Book gig."

"He's…resourceful." John rubbed his hands together. "And so am I."

She ducked out of his way. "Don't think I forgot about the poker game, John. But at least it wasn't the tiger. And speaking of cats, how's Zoe?"

"The same." There was more to say; Zoe wasn't her normal self and it looked like her career was either stalling or headed in the wrong direction. Finch had taught him to be more attentive to subtle changes in a woman's appearance so he noticed the cosmetic changes to her face, fillers probably, and the shiny forehead that didn't wrinkle or move at all. She'd once called PR a 'young people's game'; 'something you graduate from into communications, public speaking or political strategy when the heat cools and the phone stops ringing'. Maybe that was why. Either way, he didn't say it at all. "Let's not talk about her; we're still on our honeymoon for about eight and a half hours."

"Oh really? Then what do we talk about?"

He kissed her forehead. "What's next."

 _Wednesday 7_ _th_ _September 2016, 2.51am, Cayuga Prime Apartments, Cayuga Heights, New York_

Since Shaw respected animals much more than humans; she poured a bottle of steak sauce on Prince Farazmon's head after she knocked out his guardians on principle. Faz literally peed his pants when she referred to him as 'Prince Filet Mignon' but since she was being watched by someone with a cooler head and a badge; she had no choice but to heed Finch's advice to avoid using firearms so the animal didn't become agitated. Her silencer helped her bring the 480lb beast to a forced slumber as Faz bolted for his apartment, forever changed and scared out of his mind.

"Holy crap, would you look at that thing?" Fusco exclaimed, referring to the sedated big cat in the crate.

"Yep, that's the Animal Sanctuary people are gonna say." She replied dryly, kicking the empty steak sauce bottle to him for an incredulous game of soccer.

"How come you can…you know… _empathise_ with our furry friends?"

She didn't think too much about her answer. "They're smarter, they make sense and they deserve it."

"You sound like a vegan. So why'd you eat meat?"

"Never met a smart cow. Or a deer. Or a fish. Or a lamb. Or a sheep. Or a-"

"Horse?"

She looked at him with disgust. "What'd you take me for? A murderer?"

 _9.35am, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

Paul wasn't expecting his son to come back early but he didn't know the back story; that his grandma decided to make a quick exit so she could lick her wounds in the comfort of her own home and when Gregory offered, he tagged along. Although Gina had moved in, she hadn't put many touches on the place; the white, grey and warm wooden interior designed by his ex-girlfriend Kenyatta (who thought sure she was getting a ring, until Valentine's Day, her birthday and Christmas passed by; making it was clear she wasn't) was still mainly untouched. Gina's green and silver KDT – Klassic Dance Troupe – coach's jacket was hanging behind the door. The francophone Hillman graduate had tried a number of careers – even settling down in the American Consular Agency in her family's homeland of Martinique – until she realised she couldn't work under anyone else. So the 80-strong dance troupe was her business and her baby and if you let her tell it, Paul was her baby too. Taylor was just happy to see his dad date someone who wasn't mistaken for his sister or worse, girlfriend.

"She baked cookies, if you want some." It wasn't an offer as much as a dare, Paul nodded enthusiastically as they both knew they were terrible.

Taylor went through the fridge, looking for a snack. "Where's Gina?"

"At the studio, new mirrors. So they got married?"

"Yep. On Monday."

Paul though John was strange, he couldn't put his finger on what, why or how, but his gut said the man was a Russian doll inside a truckload of other Russian dolls. "I never knew they were engaged."

"They weren't…'til we got there." Taylor explained, settling for an apple and cheese.

Now he was home, Paul didn't know what to say to his son seeing as he'd done most of the talking with his counsellor of six years, Susan. She advised him to ask open questions instead of leading ones. "You good?"

"I guess. I called Bella to say I was a jerk."

"Good for you. What'd she say?"

"Not much, just Princeton stuff."

Paul never asked his son if he was jealous or angry that his girlfriend broke their plans for a better deal, an Ivy League dream her parents threw a Quinceañera-sized celebration for, though he suspected he was both. The truth was Taylor was embarrassed and hurt, something everyone else knew but no-one said out loud. "You know Tay; you got Georgia State, Spelman _and_ Clark Atlanta girls to choose from. Good girls working towards something. Get back in the game."

"I thought you liked Bella."

"I do. We all do."

"Then why does everyone keep saying that?"

"'Cause you've had enough time to get used to it. You're the one dragging this out."

"Me?"

"Tay, trust me on this. It's different after college. It's different when you're older. But for now, you gotta move on."

There were enough contradictions at play for Taylor to shake a stick at; this was the same man who got married the weekend after graduation against everyone's advice, took three years to get the message his ex-wife wasn't taking him back, spent the last eight years never single for more than a month-and-a-half, and needed a woman around so much he often got back with his exes to find nothing had changed. The only difference with Gina was they knew what their issue was; they both loved to be right, and they had accepted it. "But you got married in college."

"That's how I know what I'm talking about. It's not _wrong_ it's just…you need more time before you get in so deep."

"Gram asked when you're marrying Gina."

Paul gave the definitive answer, the only answer. "Never. And you can tell her that. We've been there, done that and neither of us was good at it. How's Reggie doing?"

"Still playing football…and girls."

Paul smiled. "Guess he can't hold his liquor either?"

"How'd you know?"

"'Cause the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. Susan said it's not healthy to want someone just 'cause you can't have them; it'll make you crazy. _And,_ girls like Bella don't make friends easy 'cause they're misunderstood or they isolate themselves or something."

The embarrassment came on like a hot flash. "You told Susan?"

"We talk about my life; you're a part of my life." Taylor couldn't argue with that. "And I didn't think you'd listen anyway. Apparently you get that from me…apple, tree."

He knew it was true. "I know she's lonely but I don't wanna be just friends."

"That's all you're gonna get…'til Princeton moves to Georgia."

He smiled at the terrible joke. "I get it."

 _Finally_. "Hey, I told Gina we'd fix her car. She got ripped off just for a drive belt last time."

"Okay." This was a time where a father might hug his son or tell him everything was going to be alright; but they weren't those people and Paul wasn't a hugger. Instead, he gave his son a friendly punch in the chest, told him to keep his head up and went off to find the toolbox. And for the first time, Taylor understood what Reggie was missing.


	15. Man

A/N: This is for everyone having one of those weeks. The Team is back.

Random references: Cafe Bombon is half espresso-half condensed milk, Team Xtreme was an Attitude-era team of Lita and the Hardy Boyz, the three letters are DVF and "read her/him the Riot Act" is a British phrase/idiom meaning to tell someone off about their bad behaviour e.g. parent/child, spouse/spouse, teacher/student.

Does anyone else remember the time John and Zoe were married in the suburbs in S02?

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 15: Men

 _Wednesday 7_ _th_ _September 2016, 11.01am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

"Welcome back Mr Reese. While Detective Fusco and our overzealous friend make an effective team; it's quite nice to have the genuine article." Finch greeted.

John felt like he was back in uniform; the Glock in his waistband crossed the final T. "It's good to be back, Finch."

"And timely, but before I give you the latest update; congratulations."

"Thanks. Couldn't have done it without it you, seeing as she would've killed me." That statement equally applied to Evelyn and Joss. John took the envelope with suspicion. "What's this?"

"A bonus."

"I didn't know we did that."

"Well, since you gave away most of your earnings and the Detective has a taste for the finer things in life, I thought it might be appropriate."

 _The finer things?_ Maybe steak and a nice bottle of wine, but he'd never known Joss to be materialistic. "Was it the mini bar?"

"Actually it was the spa. _And_ the concierge. But the less said about that the better. I suppose you'll be looking for a new abode – I took the liberty of shortlisting some places with laxer street security."

John hadn't thought about where they were going to live, Joss' place was cozy enough for two as long as he didn't use the front entrance. "I guess you own some of these buildings."

"Perhaps. You have something for me?" John puts the doll on the desk. "Ahhh, the Childhood Museum will appreciate the donation. Tell me, how is Ms Morgan?"

John said the first word that came to mind after seeing her face. "Puffy."

Finch poured him a travel mug of coffee. " _Puffy_?"

"Yeah, her face. She looked like one of those ads on the subway."

"Hmmm." Harold sipped his tea with intrigue, suddenly inspired to change his agenda for the day. "Well, two numbers came up this morning and _Team Xtreme_ are dealing with one already so..." A young girl with plastic barettes in her hair came up on the nearest screen. "Claudette Moore, aged 8. Daughter of Khaliah Moore, a dental hygienist, and Montez Jackson, currently awaiting trial at Rikers for selling marijuana to minors."

"Weed charges?" John asked with disbelief. Most days he'd usually committed more misdemeanours before 10am to deserve a spot in jail than simply selling weed up the street from the local high school.

"Yes, it appears Mr Jackson is being extorted as the drugs in question were confiscated, leaving him indebted to a man further up the food chain known as Kairo."

John knew the coffee was for something. "Where am I headed?"

"The Hole."

"Kidnapping in the works. Nice. I guess we don't have to worry about because there are no street cameras. Which also means you can't track me."

"Well, if it was easy it wouldn't be fun."

"Another day at the office…"

 _11.49am, Good Dam Donuts, Highbridge, Bronx, New York_

For once, Fusco's mission didn't involve washing the dog, being on tiger watch, or the illustrious role as Shaw's human body shield. Instead they were using their brains, fuelled on donuts and coffee; as they kept watch on Lucas Dabrowski, the 23-year-old college dropout, donut shop employee of the month for three months and counting, and part-time hacker.

"I don't trust him." Fusco announced, choosing between the green one with a cream filling or the square one filled with chocolate from the mixed baker's dozen. "I bet he poked his nose somewhere it didn't belong."

"He's too much of a loser to be anything special. If he was that good at hacking; he wouldn't be sharing a studio apartment and sleeping on a pull-out couch."

"Don't count him out."

She stared at him. "Who are you, _Coach Carter_? His parents kicked him out for a reason, should've stayed at community college on their dime, traded it in for Raid cans and mouse traps. Punk."

He smiled. He never got that kind of straight talk from Hazel. "Some people have to learn the hard way."

"Yeah." She agreed for once. "By getting shot."

 _4.04pm, 8-ball Pool Hall, Brooklyn, New York_

If married life was meant to domesticate John then they hadn't invented a ball and chain heavy enough to slow him down. He figured from recent reports, the kidnapping was a three-man operation and he'd found his driver.

"I'll play you." John kind-of offered.

"Nah."

"50 bucks?"

The young man who couldn't have been more than 19 showed a sudden interest. He took off his football jacket. "You break."

John nodded. "Yes, Jaheem, I break." He was quick, but not quick enough to escape the swift swing of the pool stick across his back knocking him to the ground. "Let's talk about the little girl in your van this afternoon."

"What girl?" Jaheem asked, plotting how he could get revenge with the knife in his pocket.

John smiled because of his newfound patience. The same patience he used to ask just one question. "Where did you and two jackasses on the traffic camera take her?"

Jaheem got the feeling this man was a cop, and he might die that day. "Nowhere."

"Sucks to be you, Jaheem." If it wasn't for Shaw's Tang Soo Do lessons, John wouldn't have been so graceful in his movement. This wasn't any reckless beating with a pool stick, this was five calculated hits with precision as John cut the pool stick through the air as though it was made of bamboo. Whacking the wind out of Jaheem's body and triggering enough nerve endings to encourage him to talk. "Now, let's start at the beginning. Who told you to wait outside the Evers School?"

 _6.39pm, The Nurture Medical Center & Research Facility, Chelsea, Upper East Side New York_

Finch found it thrilling to do some sleuthing of his own. He could've used The Machine as the many ringing phones he walked past and the random SMSs indicated, but he needed to feel the fresh autumnal air on his skin and the rush of adventure. He followed Zoe around for the day, and found from cleaning up the Senator and icing his face down from the 'coke bloat' to her speaking conversational Portuguese to a Brazilian ambassador about how to recover from the PR disaster that was the 2016 Paralympics to her arduous and borderline torturous Spinning class; her plate seemed to be very full. But at the last stop, the early 20th Century boarding house turned private health clinic run by the decorated Dr Carver-Bee, a fertility specialist, it appeared her plate might be empty at the same time. He was so lost in this philosophical musing that he didn't notice her waving from the gate across the street.

She got in through the open suicide door. "I've never missed a Bentley in my life, Harold. Especially not the same one, twice in a day."

He couldn't help noticing the puffiness in her face was an accurate description. "Well, seeing as my cover's blown; please join me for dinner."

"I can't. But thanks anyway."

"How about an appetizer or two?"

She thought she might as well, seeing as her cover was blown too. Besides, she needed someone to talk too and she didn't have female friends. Or women wouldn't have her as their friend. Either way, she accepted. "Well now you know my secret; I'd love to."

 _7.11pm, Alma's Bookcase, Williamsburg, Brooklyn._

Considering the long-held grudge Aunt Cammie kept Evelyn for beating her to the altar in 1968 despite being a year younger (16 to be exact), Joss met her mom at the local bookstore to make peace because she knew what was good for her. She knew she'd find her mother in the fiction section and came bearing gifts from ML Organics. "I got your favourite. Peach iced tea. It's organic, with agave syrup, no sugar. Because we all know how Mr Greg feels about sugar."

The side-eye was a switch blade. "It's gonna take a _lot_ more than that to smooth things over, Jocelyn _Hope_." Even the cashier had to snicker and cover it with a fake sneeze. Joss felt called out like the _one_ time she cut school only to find her mother waiting at the movie theatre entrance in house shoes to read her the Riot Act in front of her 'fast' friends and insist on driving them all back to school in the ugly maroon sedan parked out front. The only consolation was there was no internet back then. "You have _no idea_ how much it hurt to see you _standing_ there…in that _dinner_ dress like you…" If Evelyn was wearing pearls, she would've clutched them in horror. "…just came back from a cheap restaurant with a _doggy bag_."

The cashier's silent laughs and shakes produced real tears and Joss was transported to the passenger's seat of that sedan again; face burning from embarrassment and eyes stinging from the mercilessness of it all. To that day, she still would've preferred to cut her own switch. But in 2016, this woman held the keys to her Southern food supply, the well of endless emotional support, and Taylor's mentor. So Joss bent like Simone Biles at the Olympics. "Ma, will you _ever_ forgive me?"

Evelyn cleared her throat. "When my _birthday_ comes around _maybe_ my _probationary_ son-in-law could show his contrition with a _tote_ bag." Joss wasn't surprised. "A _nice_ one. Nicer than Rosie's." Still not surprised. "With three letters on it."

That did it. Joss didn't even have bags with three letters on them and a billionaire just bankrolled her wedding. Not that she was that type, but still. "Really Ma?"

Evelyn had no idea what she did wrong. "What? He's the big spender with friends in high places. Just… _showing off for everybody_."

She knew Evelyn had no problem with showing off as long as she was the one doing it, but at that moment there was nothing in the world Joss wanted but to make it stop. So she caved like a Greek excavation project. "I'll see what he can do."

Evelyn clapped with excitement. "Wonderful. You look _very_ nice."

"Thanks Ma. It's the facial." She neglected to mention it was a facial with fresh seaweed imported from Japan because that would've thrown gasoline on a containable grease fire.

"You know what you need?"

 _Highlights._ Joss feigned ignorance. "No, what?"

" _Highlights_. That's how I got Gregory."

"That's now how, Ma." Joss _could've_ said about nine years ago, her mother made a beeline for St Luke's new organ player and edged out Ms Esme, Ms Tonya and Ms Paula with a fat slice of her famous 6-layer coconut cake and an _unrefusable_ offer to lunch at her house where she dropped enough gems to place herself head and shoulders above any competition, fished for all the vital information, and forced so much food down his throat his appetite only returned 72 hours later. But like every Miss America before her, Joss only wanted World Peace. "It was your charm."

Evelyn's voracious appetite for compliments was back in full effect. "You think so?"

"I _know_ so."

Evelyn beamed because that shot of power went down straight, no chaser, and the world seemed normal again. "Help me find that book about the women in the space programme, will you? _In the Shadows_ or something."

 _Hidden Figures_. "Yes ma'am."

 _8.08pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York_

Although she was on a strict dairy and caffeine-free diet and a daily exercise regimen, Zoe couldn't stop herself once she started with the cheese fondue. She'd always preferred male company, arguably more so once her father left, but Harold Finch was just the right mix of conversationalist and asexual to put her at ease.

"…I understand your need for discretion." He nibbled another pork rillettes.

"The last thing I need is my clients hearing the great Zoe Cassandra Morgan wants a baby."

"Well, life is never short of surprises."

She sipped the café bombón. "But it won't take. So the next step is another round of AI. Whoop-dee-doo."

"I wish you the very best with your endeavour, Ms Morgan."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Great, because I need your help."

He went into a coughing fit. "With?"

"It's _really_ hard to find a man who meets my profile and has a low number of reported offspring."

He needed water. Badly. "Profile?"

"Above-average intelligence, at least 6 feet tall, athletic ability, excellent medical records, bilingual, no known history of mental illness and," She lowered her voice even though they were in a homogenous environment. " _White_."

Because he had no investment in this whatsoever, he was surprisingly pragmatic. "I see there are a number of competing variables making your _quest_ difficult."

"Mmmmmm." She replied, finished off a small plate of salmon trout tartare with caviar and capers. "I've been reading this book about getting out of your way and it says you shouldn't be afraid to ask for what you want."

Finch cleared his throat and devised an extremely polite apology. "Uhh, Ms Morgan, I'm 5 foot 11."

She smiled. "I said bilingual. You're a _polyglot_ , Harold. An overachiever." His cheeks flushed from her compliment. "I was thinking more about…John."

A glaring diamond-encrusted obstacle came to mind. "But Ms Morgan-"

"I know we haven't been in touch like we used to be-"

"I think you'd rather not. Mr Reese won't be able to fulfil your request."

She understood his agenda. "I don't expect him to raise the baby, I'm doing this on my own. I don't want to interfere with his life -or your work- I just-"

"He's married." Finch blurted out without his usual tact.

She was puzzled. "The ring. He always wears a ring. He gave _me_ a ring-"

"It's different now." His tact took a nose dive into her Spanish coffee and drowned instantly. "It actually means something. He married Det…Joss on Monday."

She turned a paler shade of white more suited to a tablecloth than a dinner guest. "I never knew he was engaged."

"It progressed rather quickly. The fact remains Mr Reese is incapable of granting your request and I think you'd do well not to ask him." He saw the cracks in her face, like an ancient porcelain doll, so he tried to comfort her. "Have you considered candidates overseas?"

"Just South Africa, the UK, Australia, Canada and France."

She reached her his aperitif and he didn't stop her. "I see. Perhaps you could revisit your profile, after all there's a wonderful French nursery in…"

"If I could just talk to him, maybe he'd understand." The fact that she was so persistent, despite the potential risk to her health (because of the stress) and her life (because of what Joss would do to them both), showed him how much she wanted it. And Finch knew there was precious little a man could do to come between a woman and her heart's truest desire.


	16. Mother

_A/N: This is for everyone who didn't see Zoe's request coming? All of you? Okay then :D_

 _Random fact that has nothing to do with this chapter: Life goes better with jazz._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 16: Mother

 _Wednesday 7th September 2016, 9.16pm, Jackson Heights, Queens_

After eating humble pie with crow on the side and buying enough copies of _Hidden Figures_ for her Book Club, Joss escaped her mother through John's shoddy signal and had the address of Claudette's whereabouts. She had no luck reaching John again because as soon as she got a quarter-mile from her location, her phone signal reduced to one bar and the streets became more dimly-lit. A pair of last season's sneakers were hanging from the power lines, not that she minded as she used to be on patrol for the 75th Precinct before she made Detective Third Class.

At 0.1 miles away she spotted a man being thrown from the top window at the front of a red two-storey house and immediately exited her vehicle because she knew her husband's handiwork from afar. While she ran towards the house a motorbike she hadn't seen before veered off in the opposite direction; she was 85% sure that was her man.

Besides the man with the dislocated leg crying on the bare lawn from his fall, her canvas of the ground floor was underwhelming. A video game still playing loudly on TV and a bowl of corn chips was knocked over on the floor. Not to mention the three men down; one moaning on the ground next to the broken pool stick and two seemingly knocked-the-hell-out. All this brought the probability that the man on the motorbike was John to 95%. There was no rear escape; clearly a fire hazard, so with a Glock in her right hand and torch in the left she called upstairs. "NYPD." After a moment or two or ten of silence, the shuffle of a small child's feet was the only noise upstairs. The little girl sat at the top of the stairs with more barrettes on one side of her head than the other.

"Claudette?" Joss flashed a light on her badge. "I'm a cop. You met my friend, John?" The little girl nodded. "I know you're scared, but there's nothing to be afraid of. I came to take you home to your mom." The girl didn't budge but she was shivering. "Did you leave your coat in the classroom? Before they took you?" She nodded again. "That's okay. You'll get it back. Can you come downstairs?"

Claudette shook her head and spoke her first word of the evening. "Sparkle."

"I like that movie. Do you like that movie?"

The girl twisted her left hand back and forth, like she'd studied a Beyoncé music video. "Sparkle."

Joss finally understood; _trust John to give her a code_. She smiled and held the torch up to her fourth finger on her left hand. Claudette smiled back. Joss took off the ring and placed it several steps up so she could see for herself. The curious child placed it in the palm of her hand. "It's pretty."

"Thanks. Let's get you home."

Claudette came down willingly and was about to give back the ring when she made an unusual appraisal. "It's blue raspberry."

Joss decoded her kid-speak and knew she was thinking of ring pops. "I like cherry. Let's get out of here."

 _9.32pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

After his first non-date in a very long time, Finch knew he had to have a one-on-one with The Machine about his conundrum, the impending doom and the future of The Team. "…So what I'm asking you to do is to come up with the most prudent solution to this problem. One that causes the least damage."

\- Status: Amber alert

"Yes I know it's a problem, a manageable problem, you know the risks if Detective Carter hears about this."

\- Status: Red alert

"Exactly. How do we keep Ms Morgan away from Mr Reese?"

\- First Calvary Cemetery, 34-02 Greenpoint Ave, New York, 11378, United States

"Death is not an option."

\- Death is an option. All options are choices, ranging in difficulty and efficacy, and all choices produce positive, negative or neutral outcomes.

"I'm aiming for a positive outcome, considering all variables."

\- Likelihood of positive outcome, considering all variables: 8.333333333%

"1 in 12? There a 1 in 12 chance of a positive outcome?"

\- Affirmative. Status: Amber alert.

The Machine produced a report from a communications network provider highlighting the name of Zoe's neighbourhood, Roosevelt Island.

"Hmmm. Down time in Zoe's area."

\- Reduce or Exploit?

Finch made a pragmatic decision based on her emotional state when she got in her Uber. "For the greater good; exploit."

\- Status: Amber alert.

 _10.02pm, Good Dam Donuts, Highbridge, Bronx, New York_

Lucas Dabrowski pulled down the shutters and double-checked all the pad locks. Shaw wasn't used to slow, uneventful nights; she needed more of an adrenaline rush to deem the evening worthy of her time. "Wake me up when this snooze fest ends."

"You know, bats sleep with their eyes open." Fusco joked, popping two antacids for his indigestion. Even though his doctor had warned him about his cholesterol for the past five years, he felt his Sardinian roots and nonagenarian grandparents were his inherited right to give the finger to any and all dietary recommendations.

"Is that why _Bagel_ just lies there while you do all the work?" Her advanced-level verbal upper cut was something out of Ms Evelyn's Academy of Imperial Shade Throwing.

If she was a man, and they were at the bar; he probably would've ordered a round of drinks just to save face. But they were friends. And Fusco had a secret Bachelor's Degree in Busting Balls in his back pocket. "What's wrong, _Sporty Spice_? Korean store all outta D batteries?"

She broke into a smile because this was the closest thing she felt to happiness; having a friend who could play her game with its upside-down rules. "I heard they made a blow-up doll you can plug in for conversation. Comes in three flavours; _bagel_ , white bread and beige paint. Remind you of someone?"

He knew he should be defending Hazel, especially from the food names, but not-so deep down he knew his blood pumped faster ducking blows from Shaw than alone with his very-normal and very-nice girlfriend. That was why he didn't mind that she won this round. "Take a long jump off a tall bridge, _Daria_. W-RFS?" He asked, tuning the radio station.

"When you talk to me like that, sure."

 _Thursday 8th September 2016, 2.22am, Joss' apartment, New York_

Joss was surprised to find John on the sofa waiting for her with the lamp light on. Usually he was the last one to sneak in. His leather jacket hung over the lounge chair. She kicked off her ankle boots, straddled him and rubbed his neck. There was just a comfortable knowing silence between them. Her touch was tender as she played with that knot as though she could loosen it in that moment and listened to him breathing through his nose.

"You go first." He suggested because she was making him feel tired and soothed.

"Claudette likes my ring." She smiled through the sadness of the evening. "It took two hours for Khaliah to let me take her to a doctor. She thought CPS would take her daughter away if anything happened to her. So I took them to Dr Chester." He nodded in agreement. Arianne Chester was a final year Medical school student and recipient of the Harold Dunnock Scholarship in Medicine and Nursing. "She thinks Claudette's shaken but fine. And I thought what kind of mother would rather have her child in her care than checked out by a doctor for signs of abuse? And I got my answer; a mother who wants to protect her child. Your turn."

He was shorter on words. "Could've killed Kairo but there were too many Narcos and a couple Narcs around. You saw what happened to the rest." This would've been a perfect time for a beer, so he had somewhere to go to. Instead he came home. He kissed her cheek. "Good job tonight."

"You too. You did good."

 _6.12am, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York_

Though Zoe felt worse for wear that morning, she knew that calling in sick wasn't an option when she owned the business. Her LH chart indicated the peak time for Trying to conceive (TTC) was from the 17th to the 22nd of September, not leaving her much time to talk to John. She put all thoughts of that ring and the woman attached to it out of her head and practiced tunnel vision. Even Harold's suggestion that she could adjust her expectations was a non-starter; she wasn't going to lower the bar and accept a sub-par donor – uneducated, stumpy, unable to catch a ball or throw one, with crooked teeth and some terrible congenital disease – just to get pregnant. If that was the case she might as well have a one-night-stand…and even that didn't work the last time. No, John Reese was the only man on Earth worth considering and as soon as they got a phone signal back on the block; she was going to call him.


	17. My, my, my

_A/N: Yes it's coming, that thing you want to happen? It's coming. Next chapter. I promise. Finch's Angels from 3x03 reloaded. For now, R.I.P. Bill Nunn and Credit to Johnny Gill for the chapter title. Keep sending me M words - I'm using them somehow._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 17: My, my, my

 _Friday 9_ _th_ _September 2016, 1.35pm, Giovanni's Pizza, Brooklyn_

Paul was relieved when his son finally stopped moping because he was a quarter-inch away from telling him how much of a girl repellent that was. Besides, it was his last day off and he had plans of getting in some pizza, Go-karting and an amateur UFC match before he put his only child on a plane the following morning. Taylor's appetite was back, a tell-tale sign she was almost out of his system, as he put away a 5th slice of the "Mass Meat" pizza and slurped down the last of his root beer. "You look better, kid."

It wasn't that simple; Taylor had made the decision to date other girls because the prospect of playing the "just friends" game with wasn't one he could put up with and because he'd come to an simple conclusion. "Everyone does what they want; Reggie, _Bella_ , John, _Gram_ …you."

"Me?" Paul asked, wondering where the hell that came from. "Tay, I don't just _do_ what I want." _Yes you do._ "And what does that mean anyway?"

"You're getting mad." Taylor said simply, in that infuriating, neutral, tell-it-like-it-is, tone he inherited from his mother.

"I'm _not_ getting mad." Susan once told him using anger to avoid communication was a defence mechanism and six months later he'd realised it was ingrained in him at a young age when he learnt communication and confrontation were the same thing. But they weren't. Paul exhaled. "I don't know what you meant."

"Everyone does what makes them happy. That's what I meant."

"So what are _you_ gonna do?"

"I don't know. Something different, I guess."

Paul tried to make light of it, because that's what he did when he didn't know what else to day. "What's that your mom always says about girls? Date the smart ones?"

"Smart _and_ pretty. It's Emory, Dad; they're all smart ones."

"Yeah, well it's Atlanta so, do the right thing."

"Daddddddd." He groaned, if he had to hear _one_ more safe-sex talk...

"I mean it. You know what they say; you girlfriend's ex-boyfriend's ex- _boy_ friend. Don't get caught up." He'd heard this all before. Several times. "Or just wait." There went that flashing neon contradiction again, like Taylor didn't bump into Gina in half a silk robe coming out the bathroom around 3am. Or like the dryer wasn't full of their mixed laundry. Or like his dad ever took more than a month to bring his current lady home.

Taylor wasn't the slick mouth type but he was a realist. "Okay?"

"You ever think that's what made you love Bella in the first place? Taking time; getting to know her?" He'd never thought about it that way and it made him quiet for once. "Tay, _girls ain't nothing but trouble._ Fastest way to complicate your life is to add a girl to it."

"What about Gina?"

"She's a _woman_. And we're not talking about me." Paul replied, breathing life into the do-as-I-say-i-you-want-to-don't-say-as-I-do-because-it's-none-of-your-business paradox at the foundation of their relationship. "You gotta focus; that's what Bella's doing." For all their similarities, Paul thought his son was a better version of him, with better opportunities and a much brighter future. The kind he could've had if things were different; if his parents had the money for a private education at Hampton instead of having to scrape grants together and buss tables and eat at his girlfriend's sorority house at Milton. But if they had; he never would've met that girl and Taylor wouldn't be here. Such was life.

Taylor had never thought of himself as a distraction to her or vice versa but it made a compelling argument. "Yeah. I guess she is."

"Besides, if you flunk out, I'm stuck with the bill and Joss'll kill us both.

" _And_ get away with it."

"Scot free like Viola Davis."

"Refill?" Taylor asked.

Paul cleared his throat. "2 o'clock."

"Dad, that's so corny."

"What? She's _looking_ at you. Green shirt." Taylor barely glanced in her direction, all he saw was the pinball machine. Paul gave him that look Reggie did. "How'd you still like skinny girls after a year in Atlanta? Of all places."

"Dad, I _don't_ like skinny girls." But like the sayings went; _thou doth protest too much_ and _a hit dog'll holler_. The truth was; after spending a year constantly assuring Bella that she wasn't fat like she always said she was (she wasn't); he didn't know what skinny or fat even meant anymore or whether it was whatever that particular girl said it was because of what other girls said it was at that particular time.

"Fine, you have a _preference then._ Everyone does." Taylor sighed. " _I_ like women who know where the gym is, can't have muscles bigger than me though."

 _Just kill me now_. He grabbed both empty glasses. "If I talk to her, will you stop?"

"Finally; you sound like my son." Taylor had overheard that his grandfather, who he had never met for a plethora of reasons (one being, he still called Joss "that uppity bitch that stole my grandson" when they hadn't been related in over a decade), once threw his grade-school aged dad in a pool to 'teach him how to swim'. Considering what ran down that branch of the family tree; being nudged back into the dating game seemed relatively small in comparison.

 _1.51pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct, New York_

Captain Preston Noguerra was brought in to clean up the 8th Precinct and its image after HR was dismantled in 2013. With 16 years' experience in Organised Crime it was thought that his presence would improve the integrity of the Badge in the district but in the last three years all Joss had seen was his ability to work the camera and take great pictures hugging kids, while each incident of police brutality even outside the city made it harder for the public to respect that they would or could obey that same laws they swore to uphold. He was a strategist and quite corporate and unyielding in his approach; but because of the company she kept, Joss was more flexible on the job than she'd been in her whole life. "I wasn't expecting you back until Monday, Detective."

"I wanted to get a head start on what I'd missed, Cap'n." She'd avoided this man quite successfully, only coming face to face with him twice a year; she didn't need or want to be on his radar.

He nodded. Beyond what he'd read and heard about her in the briefings, he hadn't seen enough of her to get a read on her; as though she was avoiding him. "How was your vacation?"

"Great. Family, food, and I got married with a string quartet and lots of fireworks."

He blinked. "I've heard about your offbeat sense of humour."

 _That's what I get for being honest._ "I'm ready to get back to work, Cap'n. If you don't mind."

Not at all. In fact, good, because the Canuto cold case has been re-opened, thanks to your discovery." _John's discovery, but who cares?_ "The body you found belonged to Aaron Canuto."

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought it was Dylan. Aaron Canuto's been in prison since 2013."

"That's what we thought. Dental records prove otherwise."

"So Dylan went to prison in his brother's place while his body lay cold in the ground?"

He gave her a stack of green folders. "Find out what we missed the first time around. I got you into USP Canaan on Wednesday. You can ask Dylan Canuto yourself, seeing as his lawyer will be there to discuss the new identity fraud charges."

"Waymart, Pennsylvania." She read aloud.

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, my son heads back to college tomorrow. Shouldn't be a long drive to Waymart."

"Good." His smile did nothing to put her at ease. "Welcome back, Detective."

"Thank you, Cap'n."

 _2.28pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

When Finch asked his creation to show him something impressive it replaced the turquoise and golden Malaysian sunrise with the moving image of vocal sound wave frequency.

 _"John, it's Zoe. Good morning. I need to see you…soon. Very soon. Call me?"_

 _"Hi John, long time, no see, ummm, how've you been? I've been good and I'd like to get back in touch. Uhhhh, it's Zoe."_

 _"Good morning. This is Calista Reid calling for Zoe Morgan, of ZCM Consulting. I'd like to arrange a meeting with John Reese and Ms Morgan by the end of this week. Please email me at at ZCM hyphen C-o-n-s dot com or call back on…"_

 _"John, the Senator wants a rematch on his turf. Call me and I'll set it up. It's Zoe. Bye."_

\- Option #9: Hold voicemail messages in transit. Send or delete?

Finch took off his glasses and held the end of one of the arms between his teeth in thought. "This would be easier with a risk assessment."

\- Send voicemail messages. Risk response: Accept. Impact: High

\- Delete voicemail messages. Risk response: Avoid. Impact: Medium

He put his glasses back on to read. "Well done. I see. Delete."

\- Confirmation: Voicemail messages deleted (4 of 4).

\- Status: Amber Alert.

"And if I chose to send?"

\- Hypothetical status: Orange Alert

"What would I do without you?"

\- Implode.

Finch chuckled. "Yes I would. Any updates for me?"

\- Lucas Dabrowski. Threat level: Imminent.

The screen changed again from typewriter font text to an access pass from the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections with Joss' name and portrait on it. "Detective Carter is going out of town. And she will not have access to communications during her visit. Oh dear."

\- Prospective status: Orange alert

"What we need is an intervention." Joss' access pass was swiped to the left and replaced with a picture of a scowling Sameen Shaw. "No. Not Ms Shaw." The Machine didn't provide an alternative. "But she lacks tact and Ms Morgan's situation is rather delicate. I can't imagine what she'd say if given the opportunity to-"

\- Hypothetical status: Blue alert

"That low?"

\- The Homeland Security Advisory System classes the Blue alert level as the general risk of terrorist attacks otherwise referred to as 'Guarded'. A Green alert level is considered low-risk.

"Thank you for the clarification. Now is there anyone else in the United States who could dissuade Ms Morgan?" Shaw's picture didn't budge, which was timely because she came in unannounced.

"Now that – is one good-looking chick." She approved of her own image. "Does that mean I get my Hollywood Star?"

"Salutations Ms Shaw. Would you like an English muffin? Perhaps with sausage."

"Hey. Don't distract me with brunch. What's up with that?"

He wanted help but The Machine had made up its mind and he had to comply. "Well, we have a situation involving Ms Morgan."

"She still wants to swing from his jock strap? I thought that was old news."

He didn't understand how one could swing from a jock strap and frankly, didn't wish to. "It's actually more complicated than that."

"She wants Carter, _too_? Jeez. At least let her finger go green from all that fake jewellery, first."

Finch knew better than to indulge her. "Ms Morgan wants a baby with Mr Reese and is undergoing fertility treatment to achieve her aim."

Shaw nodded and thought like a physician. "Aim is the right word. Like when Carter swings her foot back and aims for Zoe's _assssssssssssssssssssss_."

Finch wiped his brow, because he knew she was right. "That's what I'm trying to avoid. Among other things."

"There's no avoiding it, _Charlie_. You need to get them in the same room asap, and I'll play referee." She thought about that black and white striped shirt she had, and how it was so useful now.

He stared at the screen. "Is this what you meant?" He asked aloud.

\- Affirmative. Hypothetical status: Blue alert

"See, Charlie, even the _motherboard_ knows the only way to avoid this explosion is to light our own fire and put it out."

"And your recommendation?"

\- Intervention. Risk responses: Share/Transfer/Reduce.

\- Share: between Carter and Morgan.

\- Transfer: from Morgan to Carter to Morgan to Carter to Morgan.

\- Reduce: overall.

\- Multiple outcomes: 60% positive, 30% negative, 10% neutral. Impact: High

\- Hypothetical status: Blue alert

"So when _Nintendo_ says it you listen, but when I'm standing _right here_ -"

He gave her what she wanted. "You were right, Ms Shaw. Ms Carter will be in Pennsylvania on Wednesday so if you could arrange a face-to-face-to-face before then I'd be most grateful for your assistance."

She scratched her neck, somewhat satisfied. "Thank me with that breakfast muffin. I like my butter warm."

 _2.40pm, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York_

Calista Reid was a Junior at CUNY who became Zoe's assistant through insistence rather than a normal hiring process; she wasn't even looking for an assistant when the pushy 20-year-old with the bad ombre dye job ambushed her at the Carlito's Coffee stand with a colourful resume and a suggestion for her barely-there business Facebook page. Although she talked too much for Zoe's liking – she couldn't deal with enthusiasm until she'd finished her coffee – she'd become indispensable when other staff members jumped ship because of Zoe's fluctuating hormones. Calista was young, green and flexible enough to ride the progesterone wave with her boss for $12 an hour, and proved her worthiness that morning by bringing her late lunch to the apartment. "I cancelled your Body Combat class. You didn't sound up to it." She said casually, plugging her laptop in at the counter and sitting on a swivelling diner chair.

"I didn't ask you to. And can't you use a desk like normal people?" _At least she got my order right._ "Have we heard back from Senator Campbell about his speech?"

"He wants it to sound more _cutesy_." Calista read. "And appeal to parents of pre-school kids. _Campbell: for your family_."

Zoe rolled her eyes at his cheesy slogan that she came up with. "I don't do _cutesy_. I went to college."

Calista could tell it was going to be a very long day. "That's what he wants. I think we should throw some _Yo Gabba Gabba_ references in there. Ask the kids to sing the Snowflake song or something."

Zoe had no clue what she was talking about. "Yo what?"

"It's a show for kids, bands come on, they sing, puppets, costumes, that kinda stuff. I used to babysit these terrible triplets in High School but it worked every time."

"Okay. Do it."

She wasn't used to it being that easy. "You want me to-? No offence, but you never let me write."

"Today's the day. Run with it. Make it _cutesy_ ; make me puke."

Calista knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Sure. Anything else?"

"Have you heard from John?" Calista shook her head. She'd never seen the man but she knew must be something special if he ticked all the boxes. Zoe looked dejected. "I've got a headache, I need rest. Divert the calls from the office and answer the phones."

"Sure." Calista would've said something nice but she'd made that mistake once and never again; Zoe couldn't stand sympathy.

 _7.08pm, Rope-a-Dope Boxing Gym, Manhattan, New York._

Shaw always thought Carter was at her best without the soldier Ken at her side. She belonged at her side, doing badass things with her friends; like plotting, cleaning each others' Barettas while trading war stories and firing off 16-gauge shotguns in the air to ring in the New Year. As she tossed the ropes and turned them into waves with her forearms, Shaw almost forgot what she was doing there until she remembered the matter of Zoe, the baby batter and the oncoming homicide. "Carter."

Joss looked over at the woman in black by the vending machine and realised her workout was cut short. She wiped the sweat from the face and dabbed across her hairline, wondering what the evening would descend into.


	18. Melee

_A/N: So I'm off to another lesson on how to sing jazz and make it swing. This is for_ **SWWoman** _because she didn't get her grease fire wish and_ **Jhill88** _who foresaw what The Machine couldn't._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

 _Friday 9th September 2016, 8.31pm, Downtown Manhattan_

Joss didn't know exactly where they were other than they were at least four storeys below ground level in Downtown Manhattan and this subterranean abandoned car park led to small rooms; 8 by 10 feet max.

"What is this place?" Joss asked, though the mop with the dried blood on it down the hall suggested there was a torture room nearby.

"Somewhere good for conversation." Shaw replied.

"Or interrogation." Joss thought aloud. "So what's this all about?"

Shaw's room opened with the key around her neck and the walls were the whitest grey. There was little furniture and no other escape. Sitting in one of two metal chairs was Zoe Morgan in a pale pink shirt dress, matching lipstick and a long white coat. Joss thought she looked tired, run down, even though she was wearing an extra layer of makeup. "Joss, hi." She wasn't expecting her, that much was clear.

"Zoe, how've you been?"

"Well. You?"

"Great."

Shaw bought this polite act as much as she thought all gummy bears were created equal. She got straight to the punch because she had to get back to watching 'Mucus Dabrowski' as she now called him. "Now we got that out the way, Zoe has something to say to you. Say it, Zoe."

Looking at her made it real; the ring was gorgeous. But Zoe snapped herself out of it because of something greater. "Actually I...this would be better with John."

"It _really_ wouldn't." This was what Shaw called 'helping'. But some people didn't want help.

"Why?" Joss asked. "Are you in trouble?"

"No, she wants to be though." Shaw thought aloud.

Joss didn't understand the tension. "I'm confused."

"I'm... _trying_." Zoe revealed.

One of Joss' eyebrows raised higher than the other, Zoe and motherhood didn't go together in her mind. "Oh, well, congratulations. I didn't think..." She shut herself up in time, something she undoubtedly inherited from her father's side of the family. "Congrats."

Shaw instinctively edged between them because she'd seen Carter's mean right-hook up close when she rearranged Laskey's face. And that wasn't real. Zoe nodded as though she was in a trance; this was much harder that she expected. "It's not easy."

"I've heard."

"…Especially when you're doing it solo."

Joss smiled a faint and insincere smile. "I know something about that."

" _And_ when you can't find the right..."

"Man? Tell me about it."

Zoe couldn't take the slow burn because she was running out of time so she dropped the bomb. "Donor." Jocelyn Hope Carter didn't need to finish Law School to see where this was going.

 _8.36pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Finch's Sencha tea was going everywhere because he couldn't hold the mug still. Finally, an update.

\- Subject engaged.

\- Status: Orange alert

"Already?"

\- Affirmative

"I don't suppose we can listen in."

\- Negative

\- Connectivity: Very Poor

"What about emergency lines?"

\- Emergency service: Ambulance

\- Status: on standby

 _8.49pm, Downtown Manhattan_

Even though the room was hardly big enough for a double bed or some bunk-beds, Joss broke off into a side conversation with Shaw. "Is she out of her mind?"

Shaw made a medical assessment. "Pretty much."

"That's why you brought me here?"

"Yep."

Zoe interjected. "I'm standing _right_ here."

"Not for long." Joss said, under her breath.

Zoe stood up, even though she felt heavy on her feet. "Hear me out. Please?"

For a reason unbeknownst to her, Joss started laughing; hysterically, uncontrollably, maniacally. When she looked back on it weeks later she'd probably say she was stunned. "Zoe. Zoe Morgan: the Uptown princess who's never heard the word, no. Well I'm saying it; _no_. In fact, I'm saying _helllllllllll_ no."

Zoe didn't know what she resented more, Joss slapping her down or the assumption that she was a princess; she'd eaten way too much boxed Macaroni and Cheese in Queens to be a princess. "You know nothing about me."

"I know it's _been_ over, if it ever was, and the most you're getting out of John is a fixed game of poker."

Shaw snorted at her inside joke. " _Poke-her_." She was only one who found it funny.

"I don't want John. I just want my baby."

"Bullshit." Shaw couldn't remember hearing Carter curse, ever. But she liked it, she really, _really_ liked it. Her mother was coming out like Buddy Love in the _Nutty Professor_ , and she wasn't in the mood to stop it. "You don't want him but you want something that will bond you for life. Explain that."

Zoe hadn't thought about the eternal commitment a baby would bring. At least she thought she hadn't thought about it. "I have standards; I don't just want _anyone_. If I did it would be much easier. Trust me."

Joss humoured her. "What _do_ you want?"

"Good height, great health, high intelligence, athletic ability." She was too embarrassed to mention race in mixed company.

Joss processed it. "In other words, _John_."

"John meets my criteria." Zoe clarified.

"John _is_ your criteria. Shaw, what came first; the chicken or the egg?"

Shaw gave the same answer she gave to get into Medical School. "Matter formed into a living organism that over time and due to environmental factors evolved into an egg."

"Exactly."

"I don't follow." Zoe said to Shaw, because Joss was burning a hole through her forehead with her 'that look'.

"You think John's your end game, the chicken, when really he's the egg; it starts with him." Shaw was succinct because they were the facts, after all.

Joss couldn't help but feel compassion even though she still wanted to push her in the Hudson. "Zoe, John's in a good place; the best he's ever been, because he's with _me_. And it's gonna stay that way. Now, you can have your baby, but _not_ with my man."

Zoe had nothing to lose. "Do you have any idea what I'm going through? Feeling like an alien took over my body and my mind, just to take test after test to find out _it's not working_."

"No I don't. I just know what it's like to raise a child by myself; I didn't have the luxury of making that choice."

Shaw thought she'd rather tie her tubes in a knot and a bow and throw them over her shoulder like a heat-packing soldier than be in either of their shoes. _Women_.

"Well, it's clear where you stand." Zoe replied, making a resolution.

Joss knew it was futile to try, as she would never understand. "I'm not the bitch here, Zoe."

"I beg to differ." Zoe replied.

"Oh crap." Shaw saw sirens, slowing singing and flower bringing ahead.

 _So much for an olive branch._ "You _would_. But even if I _died_ , or I _wasn't_ his wife, or we'd _never_ met; John would _still_ say no." That truth hurt more than any insult or physical attack could. "I want out of here. And next time, Shaw; call me about the job." For the first and probably the last time, Shaw didn't have a snarky comment to get the last word with.

 _9.21pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Although this was a highly-stressful situation, Finch found it quite thrilling. Unlike his usual protocol for John; ascertain identity and proof of life and obtain ad-hoc medical care, this evening was unfolding with greater complexity. The likes of which was a challenge to him and The Machine.

\- Subject in transit

\- Status: Orange level

"Orange? You said Blue, you distinctly said it would go down to a general level of risk. So what took place in the last 20 minutes to change that?"

The flashing red dot on the birds-eye view map of Manhattan could only belong to Zoe's taxi, as it moved North. Finch held on to the smallest hope. "And her destination?"

\- Destination: 40m from Base location.

Finch could see the end of the street through the window. "This is not good."

\- Affirmative.

Finch was never good with women especially when they cried and he couldn't comfort them. But whatever tears Zoe had cried in the car on her way to him were not up for discussion; she came to him with one purpose – to speak to John. "Eventually, he'll show up here and I'm not leaving 'til that happens. I have a laptop, a cell phone, a protein bar, a change of clothes and a PA on speed dial. So Harold, please tell John I'm waiting for him."

"Ms Morgan."

"Zoe."

" _Zoe_. What if you don't get the answer you desire?"

"I need to hear it from his mouth. I want John to look me in the eyes and tell me he won't do it."

He wanted to ask her what would happen then, but it was no use; neither he nor the Machine could predict what her next move would be.

 _10.00pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

An outsider looking in would've seen a husband fixing a leaky tap and a wife with frown lines in her forehead. Joss dropped her keys on the kitchen island. He could sense something was wrong with her. "Heavy workload, first day back?"

"No - just a truckload of bull to shovel." She sorted through the bills and tore the letter about the windfall from her distant Nigerian relatives in half.

"Tell me more."

She should've told him to put down the wrench. "Zoe's on treatments right now so she can carry the baby."

The wrench made a loud clanging sound as it bounced a few times in the sink. "What baby?"

Joss inhaled and unbuttoned her coat. " _Your_ baby; she wants your sperm. Oh, and the missing Canuto brother wasn't missing after all; he's been at Canaan Prison this whole time while his brother ate dirt and died. So, yeah. That's me. _TGIF_."

When they were in the "whatever this is" phase, John used to listen to her talk about her problems knowing he couldn't so much about them because she wouldn't let him and didn't want his help. But he figured being her husband meant giving his help whether she knew she needed it, or even wanted it, or not. "Go to Canaan and get the answers you need. I'll handle Zoe."

"John-"

"Unless you want me to make a donation; I don't think it's that complicated."

"Are you telling me to be quiet?"

"No, I like having all my front teeth." She smiled. "I'm telling you; it's not worth the headache."

"And if she pushes your buttons? With her sad story?"

"I've been waterboarded. What can she do to me?"

Suddenly Joss' problems were put into perspective. "Okay. Mouth shutting right now."

To John, it was water off a duck's back, nothing to worry about, just like a leaky sink. _Poor naïve John._ "Let's have breakfast. Steak and eggs?"

"It's dinner time." She realised what he was trying to do. "Okay, breakfast for dinner it is." She took off her coat and filled in the Sudoku puzzle on the back of the newspaper. The unusual feeling of someone else dealing with things for her was unsettling. One afternoon when they were having pedicures, Evelyn asked her if she was afraid of being taken care of. She was tongue-tied then, and she was now. Because if this is what is was like to have someone around to fill in the gaps and do the ugly things she didn't have to, why did it take her so long to have it and where was it in her thirties?


	19. Maniac

A/N: Credit to Jill Scott and Sy Smith's The ooh to my aah for inspiring #Sexytime and all of you for reading 'cause it's so much fun. Fictional grits on me.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 19: Maniac

 _Saturday 10th September 2016, 11.13am, Joss' apartment, New York_

John tried to make as small a disturbance as possible when he left while she was sleeping, but he didn't mind making a big impression on his way in. He was half-way through stripping off when he caught her side of the conversation. "…No Ma, he's not coming to church this Sunday, or the next…let's try October." Joss winked, the closest he was getting to a church was its adjoining cemetery. "…No I don't mind, Paul has every right to make plans with his son and we have to respect that…yes we do have to, Ma…Thanksgiving I guess…yes, John knows you're a Libra…no I haven't asked him yet…I'm sure he won't let you down…a light-pink one? Okay…" She rolled her eyes until she got a glimpse of John in just his socks. "Ma I gotta go…yes now… _now_ -now Ma…Why? So I can do that thing you told me not to do 'til I was married." The dial-tone from the other end was the most satisfying sound since the discount beep at the shoe store counter. "I'm not even gonna ask where you've been."

He smiled because he couldn't explain the chickens. "I went to see a man about a dog and then, I stopped by a couple of apartments."

"Apartments?"

He could tell she wasn't happy. "I thought you'd want a place of our own."

She forced a smile. "I…it's just a…surprise, that's all." She didn't know what was wrong; here she had the non-bronze, non-Greek, Celtic figure lying in her bed, offering her a new place to live, and all she could think off was the rug being pulled out from under her feet. "John, I know you want to take care of me."

"But, you're attached to this place?" He asked.

She tried to explain. "It's been my constant; you know? It keeps me connected to my son, it's the first place I laid down roots for us. It's my house." She realised how bad it sounded just to tell the truth. "But that means it's not _our_ house, I see that now."

"Joss, I can wait 'til we find the right place but I want us to have a home that's ours. And Taylor will understand your relationship keeps you connected, not this place."

"You think so?"

"Don't underestimate him, he's full of surprises."

Joss could sense something was bubbling under the surface but she couldn't put her finger on it. "You know something I don't know about my son?"

"It wouldn't be a secret if I told you." And speaking of secrets, John planned to take _that_ particular secret to the grave for both their sakes. "What I'm saying is; he's not a kid anymore. And didn't you plan to give him this place one day?"

She was surprised he remembered. "Yeah, _one_ day not _Tue_ sday."

He shrugged his shoulders and reached over her body to the nightstand on her side of the bed, unplugging the phone. "It's nothing we can't figure out at the gun range." He spoke into her ear, inhaling that mystic, captivating scent in her hair he still couldn't place.

She shifted, letting his weight fall evenly across her hips, stroking the tufts of hair at the back of his head between her fingers. "You've got all the answers today, John. Any ideas on the donut shop guy? Shaw's getting restless."

"Nope. I've got limits."

That look said otherwise. "Limits? The John I know sees green lights instead of stop signs. Unless you're reformed?"

"As reformed as I'll ever be. And for the record, all I see are green lights ahead."

"Oh really?" Those blue eyes filled up with smoke; revealing a grey tint to them that spelt trouble for her. She'd never met a man more dominant than him, and if she had; she'd never let a man get that far. Usually the alpha shtick would've resulted in unanswered phone calls and unheard voicemail messages but somehow he made her relax and open up more than just her mouth as his tongue ran up and down hers. It was amazing what he could do with just one finger that most men couldn't after years of practice in bed, maybe he was a thigh-slapping banjo player in a past life. "Mmmmmmmmmm…right there…mmmmmmmmmm…" John liked to tease, just to see the lines on her face, just to hear her ask – never beg – for more. It was no question he had used his power against women in his life; exploiting their weaknesses to break them down, using them for information or just for temporary fun. Games. But this was different; he moved inside her with purpose and precision; building her up to a climax only to withdraw and start all over again. And when he was done teasing her, he flipped her flaccid body onto her stomach and pulled her back at the knees; slamming her into submission until her mouth could form words, just incoherent, syllabic utterings. It really wasn't fair, that she was powered on a full night's sleep but still started off at a disadvantage. It was John's game, and that meant she could never keep up, or match his score, even if she wanted to finish him off with her mouth; the near-drowsiness from being tapped out made her less coordinated. He watched her roll over to her side and mumble, "Five minutes," which mean she was going to be out for at least 20 and say she just closed her eyes for a second.

After scrolling through some more apartments Finch had earmarked and loading a few of his shotguns, Joss came back to life and back to reality. She took one look at the man in the birthday and decided that after breakfast for dinner and dessert for breakfast she wanted to get on her Jill Scott and cook him some _griiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiits_.

 _11.54am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Finch was surprised to find Zoe working at a spare desk in protest; he understood her success came from the fact she never took no for an answer. "Good morning, Zoe. Would you like some brunch?"

"No thanks. I went to McClarken's for some salmon on rye. Thanks for the west-facing guest room; the sheets are just _fabulous_." She responded to Senator Campbell's email confirming he approved of the changes to his speech, taking the credit of course.

"I'm glad you were comfortable. Uhh Zoe, I have work to do so if you don't mind using the library-"

She closed her laptop. "Of course not." She sashayed upstairs, leaving behind a vanilla musk scent and he wondered how long she would stay for.

 _2.00pm, 8th Precinct_

It felt good to finally be back with his partner; Shaw was a great partner-in-crime but Fusco couldn't write reports on the things they got up to. They had the bullpen to themselves and he noticed her ring finger was naked again. "Where's the hardware?"

Joss pulled out the folders on the Canuto case. "Somewhere safe. How's Hazel?"

He looked away, he hadn't had much time for her lately and she was growing suspicious of his nocturnal activities. "Normal."

She nodded. _He's bored._ "And the Pillsbury donut boy?"

He produced a file of his own. "Three and a half months ago Lucas was locking up the donut shop when a teenage girl was kidnapped and forced into a car. Detective Goode from the SVU at the 41st Precinct thinks the guys who did it were regulars at the donut shop. They beat her, sexually assaulted her, and Lucas is the only one who can positively identify them. Since the crime, only one of them, Jeffery Hapley- kept coming to the shop."

"To keep his mouth shut." Joss concluded, understanding why he was a number in the first place. "You gotta make him talk."

He sighed. "I knew you were gonna say that. Lucas worked double shifts every night since then; that's how he made Employee of the month."

"Mmm-hmm, to avoid thinking about it. And that's how you're gonna get him to testify. You can relate."

"I knew you gonna say that too."

"'Cause you know how this works; in two weeks, Detective Goode'll be working on something new. And that girl will never get justice." Joss stated simply. "You got it."

 _3.59pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Shaw was bored. And when she was bored, bad things happened; like random fires. But fresh from his workout, John face Zoe where she was working so he could do right by his wife and prove she wasn't made to carry every load by herself. Shaw brought snacks, popcorn for herself and a new tough cut of meat for Bear, and put on her headphones and propped up her feet as Finch fired up the audio feed from the library.

"I'm glad you came over." Zoe greeted, standing up in her blue and white houndstooth skirt and loose white blouse. She thought the silver grey suit was good for him, distinguished.

"It's not often that a woman camps out for me."

Zoe was used to being rewarded for her persistence. "You look well."

"Zoe, I know what you want-"

"Let me explain, first. Please." He waited. "John, it was my birthday on May 10th." She didn't say which. He didn't congratulate her. "I'm looking at my life and I'm thinking; I have all this _stuff_ and something's missing. You know what that feels like?" He was silent, because the only training he ever remembered was when not to engage the enemy. "Of course you know what that feels like; that _black hole_ inside of you. Until you realise…you are the black hole." She put her hand on her heart. "It's empty in here. Am I so wrong, to fill it?"

…

"She's working him." Shaw took a long slurp of her chocolate milkshake. "That's the long con."

Finch had faith, and Sencha tea, on his side. "I think Mr Reese's resolve is stronger than that."

"We'll see. Can't we just-?"

"No, we can't do bodily harm to Ms Morgan."

"What about-?"

"No, we can't do damage to her car either."

She sighed. "What a waste. Of all the days he could've been an asshole and saved us a lot of time."

"I'm quite proud of Mr Reese."

"Are you paying attention? This is worse."

"I don't follow."

"It's better for the bully to kick your ass than to let you keep your lunch money 'cause you cried and wet your pants."

Finch didn't spend much time in the playground at recess as a child, he was more of the wait it out reading in a bathroom stall or the janitor's closet-type. But his superior logic could always break down an analogy. The worst thing John could do was feel sorry for her, and it looked like that's what he was doing.

…

John realised Zoe's angle; she was trying to wear him down through talking. "When my dad left us, my mom said ' _we were on our own'_. And the day I finished college? She told me, ' _Congratulations; now you're on your own'_. My first heartbreak; ' _Zoe, men always leave; you have to make it on your own.'_ So I did just that. And here we are today; I'm asking you to do _one_ thing for me so I can do this. On. My. Own."

He tried to be succinct. "I could never say yes to you."

"Because of Joss?

"Because I don't want children. And if I did; she's the only woman I trust to raise them _on her own_."

She was taken aback. Not because he said no but because of the insinuation. "You think I'd be a bad mother? Where'd you get off saying that to me?"

"Me? You didn't cross the line of decency when you asked my _wife_ to accept this?"

…

"Look at _Stretch Armstrong_ coming back from a pathetic first round on the ropes." Shaw played commentator with great satisfaction. "Almost got his balls back."

Finch lost his appetite for Battenburg cake, but he did find the situation thrilling as the Machine changed the risk level by the second.

…

Zoe fired back because she was hurt. "You've probably got a kid or two out there anyway, John. They call it 'unreported offspring'. And I'll have you know, the leader at my parenting class says I'd be a fine mother so so much for you and your uneducated opinion."

John realised this was the doe all over again; there was no way of winning. The sooner he accepted that, the soon Uncle Sterling could miss his shot and make up some victorious story. So he did it; he gave her what she needed. "You don't want me, Zoe. You never did; you just liked the idea of doing something no other woman could; locking me down. But you couldn't, 'cause I'd always be looking for the next exit; like that window or the roof or the fire escape. I never thought of you that way, when I came to you I saw an open door to poker and company." It was a dagger in her heart because the unspoken thing was he never thought of her at all. "I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry. It's…it's pathetic, don't say it."

…

Even Bear could sense something was wrong because he sat at attention. "Oh dear." Finch exclaimed. "I suppose Ms Morgan will be making a quick-" She rushed past them and headed downstairs without a word. "Exit." The only noise she made was a slammed door.

Shaw shrugged her shoulders. "At least she's gone. Talk about a few yolks short of a dozen eggs."

Finch inhaled. "That was rather crass, considering."

"What? Too soon? I thought we wanted her gone. And she left her stuff; talk about overstaying your welcome."

He was surprised and disconcerted that she remembered anything he ever told her about etiquette because she still ate like someone raised in the woods. "Gone? Yes. Scarred? No."

John appeared. "So you heard?"

"Yep." Shaw chewed some gum and looked him up and down, wondering why Zoe was so hung up on him. _Any mannequin can wear a suit_. "Finally, potential."

He looked at Finch for confirmation. "I didn't blow it, this time. Come on, Finch."

Finch uttered words he never thought he'd say sober. "I'm inclined to agree with Ms Shaw."

John felt that ego boost right in his chest. "So, I'm still head honcho around these parts?"

"No." They said in unison.

Shaw forced something from her mouth like a resistant toddler spitting out a chewed up lego. "All you had to do was shoot but nooooooooooo, you had to stab her 15 times like a textbook maniac. Maybe you are a _plastic superhero_."


	20. Memory

_A/N: This is for everyone who's had a rough week - things have revved up on the work-side, cutting into my writing time. Then our leading lady dropped her book and I lost 4 hours of sleep. Anyhoo, welcome back_ **Opheliablack** _. While I have tie-ins and OCs from Body Count (for the inside jookes and familiarity), this isn't a sequel._

 _In the words of Bob Dylan, Times they are a changin'..._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 20: Memory

 _Sunday 11_ _th_ _September 2016, 10.06am, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Taylor wiped the drool from his mouth and slowly opened his eyes to the longest pair of eyelashes he'd ever seen in his life. His roommate hadn't arrived on campus yet so he couldn't fathom why he hadn't slept alone. He couldn't remember drinking that much. After his dad's urging, he went to the sophomore mixer and couldn't recall how he got home. "Uhhh...did we?" He asked, trying to remember where he'd seen her before.

"Have sex? No. You got a headache?" She asked, continuing a game of Tetris on her phone.

He was surprised that she knew. "Are you pre-Med or something?"

"No, I know something was up with that punch though."

He'd never seen a girl who looked like her before; with warm brown skin and green eyes, with no pretence or insecurity. "What punch?"

"You got roofied." She said matter-of-factly.

He tried to remember patches of time that simply weren't there. "What?"

"Roofied, like…you know."

Not believing her wasn't an option because all he could recall about her was she was in his Intro. to Computer Science class last year and her name was Zahra. "Why would someone do that?" She shrugged her shoulders and got out of bed. "Okay, how'd you get to level 87?"

"Procrastination." She answered. "Why'd you go last night when you didn't wanna be there?"

Her question went unanswered. There was something mysterious about her that made him want her to stay. He doesn't want her to go. Something about her made him feel at ease; it was something familiar he couldn't put his finger on. She dressed up in ripped jeans and a thick sweater. Her hair, which was halfway between ringlets and his, was covered by a headwrap that tied into a bun at the back of her head. "Are you a...Muslim?"

"It's pronounced _mooz_ -lum." She joked, pulling the scarf forward to cover her hairline.

"I thought..." He bit his tongue.

"Say it."

There was no nice or enlightened way to say it. "I thought Muslim girls don't-"

"What? Speak out loud or go to school?"

"Stay over."

She shrugged her shoulders again and smiled. "You're a good guy, Taylor."

He could feel a speech coming on. That dreaded 'you're a nice guy but' speech. "Don't say it."

"Don't say what?"

"Before you say it, I'm asking you out." She had a pretty smile; her teeth didn't flash like Bella's did but there was something suggestive about it like she hid a secret in there. "Thursday after Calc."

"You're a nerd." She teased; it didn't make it any less true.

"Pretty much. Thursday?"

She threw her tote bag over her shoulder. "Yeah."

"Are you serious about the roofie thing?"

"I've seen you before – doing the Drake-Emo thing – but I've never seen you wasted. See ya." He wanted to ask where or when, but there was no point; he'd wasted his Freshman year thinking about someone who wasn't thinking about him and giving new girls – decent ones – bad vibes. And then there was this different girl; which something distinct about her that he couldn't pin down. He would later learn that thing was mystery and it would lead him down a meandering, unclear path.

 _1.21pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Evelyn Taylor-Clement didn't like secrets or surprises; secrets that weren't shared with her exclusively and frustratingly kept from everyone else, and surprises that didn't include gifts of which she was the sole recipient. That was why despite the fact Joss actually attended church and on time _and_ sang _Love Divine, All loves excelling_ about 2 feet from her ear as they shared a hymn book like they did many years ago; she wasn't happy. Leftover Frogmore stew steamed up the kitchen until the condensation set off the fire alarm. Gregory waved the damp rag under it until the shrill siren stopped. "Didn't you notice?" He asked, snapping her out of her daydream.

"Oh, that." She turned off the hob and thought to herself. Something didn't feel right; not the smile on Joss' face, or her unreturned call to her grandson, or her son-in-law who was M.I.A. as usual so she couldn't show him off after service. She was losing control, and if secrets and surprises were barely tolerable; that prospect was completely unacceptable.

Joss joined them in her casual Sunday outfit of jeans and a creamy white long sweater with her hair in an 'that awful bun' her mother hated. Barely wearing make-up, she looked like a college student; young and carefree, reminding Evelyn of that chilling day she said Paul was coming home for the holidays to 'talk' to her father. "You need help?" Joss asked, picking lint off her sweater. Gregory gave his wife a knowing look that translated roughly into _'remember-the-time-you-thought-it-was-a-good-idea-to-marry-off-your-daughter-without-asking-her-what-she-wanted-then-she-did-what-you-thought-you-wanted-her-to-do-and-now-she's-so-happy-she-doesn't-care-what-you-think-anymore?'_

"Just the bowls and spoons." Gregory advised because his wife was speechless for once. "And you sounded _lovely_ today, Joss."

Joss thought her mom looked like she needed a pick-me-up from that queasy look on her face. "Thanks. Ma, sweet tea?"

 _10.02pm, Good Dam Donuts, Highbridge, Bronx, New York_

No-one could ever say Lionel Fusco didn't try, even when the odds were stacked against him. For instance, he was in the unenviable position of trying to keep three women happy and prove his son still needed him. For the first time in six months, Lee wasn't the issue; in fact, he wanted his dad to take him shopping for an outfit to Homecoming. The issue was the dark haired woman in the passenger seat, because when she drove it made him nauseous, and the mousy brown haired woman on the other end of the phone. "…I don't…would you…if you just…Hazel…" He sighed, it had been five minutes and the conversation hadn't gone anywhere. Shaw was oblivious to their conflict, and the fact she was the cause of it. "For the _last_ time; no, there's no one else…'cause I'm a cop and I told you what it was like…I know…"

Shaw grabbed his phone and hung up on Hazel. "Not you too. First it was _Eggs over easy_ shaking down the Red _Power Ranger_ for _face_ cream. She's too vanilla to have you whipped, _Miracle Whip_. Just dump her already. I can be Nina Sigales again, and we can pick up chicks at the Yoga Studio."

He knew he wouldn't get any peace that evening with her latest stunt. But those yoga ladies were flexible. "You wanna be my wingman?"

"Anytime."

He knew something was up. "What's got you so happy? You been hanging people off the Brooklyn Bridge for fun again?"

She pushed the crow bar under her seat with her foot. "Nothing. What if _Mucus_ won't talk?"

"For the 982nd time, you can't bake a cake with broken eggs. Won't stand up in court. Get it? _Stand up_?"

Lucas Dabrowski wound down the shutters as they'd seen him do at least 10 times since his number came up. He made a point of wearing the corny half-hat until his shift ended, something that Shaw wrote off as the ritual of a loser. Fusco got out of the car solo and he could've been wearing a siren for the subtlety of his request. "It's time to tell the truth, Lucas." Fusco stated, flashing his badge. Lucas pretended he didn't hear. Instead he secured and double-checked the padlocks like he did every night. "It'll follow you everywhere you go. What you did and what you didn't do."

"I didn't hurt her." Lucas replied, not making eye contact.

"But you know who did. And it won't go away. 'Cause you're wearing it."

"I don't know who she is-"

"You know she didn't deserve it."

Lucas looked around and lowered his voice. "They're gonna kill me."

"What'd you think I'm here for? One day they'll make good on those threats so do the right thing for her and you." The shots Shaw fired off indicated _one day_ was that night. Deep down, she enjoyed using her fists and metal bars bent to shape almost as much as the firearms. Finally, all that surveillance was paying off.

 _Wednesday 14_ _th_ _September 2016, 12.44pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

John would never forget the day he first prized Joss' fire escape door open and she sarcastically greeted him, with an invitation to 'make himself at home'. But just when he had, as much as he could anyway, he was asking her to leave her stability behind. For people like Joss, a home was more than bricks and water; it represented family, time, memories. Like the memory foam pillows they'd thrown out after a year or so of good use; no-one would know how much passion they endured, by finding them in an alley. And though it may have seemed like something frivolous, John finally understood his wife's hesitation and if there was one person who could help her feel at ease he was somewhere probably getting into someone else's trouble because he couldn't help it.

"John?" Taylor sounded confused. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I can call when nothing's happened."

"Okay…"

"I've been talking to your mom about looking for a new place."

"Oh."

"I know how much this place means to her and you-"

"But you wanna live somewhere else."

"I want what's best for all of us. Our home."

Taylor didn't know what sense to make of that proposition. "Uhh, John? I'm in Atlanta. I can't help you from here."

"Think about it, and what you want."

"Yeah, sure, I gotta go." Between the dialtone and the clink of Finch's spoon against his china teacup, John was increasingly sensitive to sound. "What, Finch?"

Harold decided not to confuse him with Zoe's synced diary entry that marked 17th to the 22nd of September as her ovulation time. "Tread lightly, Mr Reese. We all know what happens when you take the heavy-footed approach. Like the time when you…"


	21. Message

A/N: "I been goin' thru it all, back all up against the wall..." #Wintertime #Badu

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 21: Message

 _Thursday 15_ _th_ _September 2016, 6.03am, Finley Motel, Waymart, Pennsylvania_

The only motel in town had a hot plate, a mini-fridge, a leaky tap Joss didn't trust and a kettle and called it a kitchenette. No wonder, she ordered in Chinese food and watched 1 of the 4 channels that got decent reception on the TV. It was the first time she'd been alone in a while; with time to think about the man in prison who thought his brother skipped the country and was serving a sentence in his place. As he told it, Dylan knew Aaron wanted to go straight so when they couldn't reach him days after his disappearance he assumed he'd gone to Canada and beyond. Although it was procedural to consider everything she heard with suspicion, she was inclined to believe him; with two brothers already in the ground Dylan had little reason to lie. She didn't trust whatever water came through the shower so she boiled the kettle a few times and turned a basin into a makeshift bath, like she did when the pipes froze. Using a cup and exfoliating gloves, in her mind she could see the loft or basement apartment John would choose, seeing as he lived in a hole for such a long time. Knowing him, there was a tent waiting for them, somewhere off the grid. And then there was her son; who she thought wouldn't going to be happy about calling somewhere else home.

 _8.33am, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Taylor's heart jumped when his phone started ringing, because early morning calls did that to him. Anticipating bad news, he wiped the sleep out his eyes and looked over at this roommate who was too passed-out to eavesdrop. "Hey."

"What've I done wrong, this time?" John asked, in that tone Reggie used when he already knew the answer but pretended he didn't.

Taylor was relieved. If John was calling there was chaos for sure but at least it wasn't tragic. He yawned. "I don't know. You didn't shoot another deer, did you?"

"No. What's wrong with the house thing? Finch said something."

Taylor chuckled. "I thought you didn't care what anyone thought."

"Help me out here."

"I guess you're doing what you always do; charging ahead without asking."

John couldn't argue, that was his M.O. after all. "Like a bull?"

"Pretty much. What does _Ma_ want?"

"Time. I said I'd give her time."

"How much time?" John's silence spoke volumes. "Okay, _five_ minutes then."

"Give me some credit." John knew deep down it had barely been two weeks since they parked that particular discussion.

Taylor knew John and Reggie were similar in that they responded to real-life situations rather than logical suggestions. "Did I ever tell you about the time someone broke into our house?"

"No, when was that?"

"A long time ago. They broke the living room window. There was yelling. It was crazy."

"What did Joss do?"

Taylor yawned again. "She pulled out two guns and went downstairs. And then she said; _Paul, get out my house. I told you I don't want you here_."

John had never heard that story. But its message was crystal clear. "So she needs more time."

"Yup."

"Okay. I'll drop it for now." Taylor thought he sounded sincere. John thought something was bubbling under the surface. "What's her name?"

Taylor was too groggy to lie. "Zahra."

John shook his head; moving on too fast was just as bad as not moving on at all. But he couldn't talk; not with the Ducati speed he went through life at. "And what's her story?"

"What story?"

"With you; there's always a story. You have a type."

It was nothing he hadn't heard before, not that he cared to listen. "She's cool; there's no story." Unless he mentioned the date rape drug he ingested that brought them together in the first place. "It's just waffles in Decatur."

"With a smart, pretty girl, no doubt?"

"Yep."

John saw that warning sign but it was Taylor's to recognise, not his. "Okay. Your mom's away."

"At court?"

"Just prison."

"Okay. Look out for Ma?"

"Always. And Zahra, was it?"

"Yeah, Zahra."

"When she tells you her story, 'cause there's always a story and she _will_ tell you her story; think about what part you're gonna play in it."

"Later, Sensei."

"Later, Grasshopper."

 _3.18pm, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York_

Calista's hair got the worst of the rain, in her mad rush from college to Zoe's place. Senator Campbell's speech was such a success business was picking up with businessmen and local politicians alike wanting Zoe's new and improved type of image management. The matcha cupcakes were perfectly intact. "I booked the car." She announced, as Zoe ended her phone call in a much better mood that she'd been in months. "And made reservations for lunch."

Zoe nodded approvingly. "We're gonna be run off our feet 'til Christmas, Easter if we're lucky. I should be showing by then."

She raised her eyebrows, just last week her boss was practically sticking pins in a voodoo doll. "Showing? You're…?"

"Not yet." There was a gleam in Zoe's eye, the same gleam she got when an invoice cleared. "But I found the perfect guy. "Arjen Eisink, from the Netherlands. I'm 12% Dutch, you know."

Calista didn't know. She just thought the whole thing was some weird mid-life crisis, not that's she'd ever say. "Wow."

"And he'll be here tomorrow."

Calista didn't know what to make of Zoe's declaration. The words 'Sperm donor: will travel" came to mind. "Wow. So…what does that mean for me?"

Zoe handed over her beloved purple laptop. "It means I'm deputising for a few days."

"But what if I don't know what to do?"

Zoe smiled. "Can you figure it out for 40 bucks an hour?"

 _Friday 16_ _th_ _September 2016, 8.47pm, The Keigler Bar, Park Slope, Brooklyn_

After Hazel gave him an ultimatum, – to spend more time with her after hours or else – Fusco's inability to make a promise he couldn't keep was the final nail in the coffin. It couldn't have come sooner for Shaw who already had her outfit ready; Ashtanga yoga kept her flexible and she knew just the place to take him – 2 blocks away from the low-key bar. It was the kind of place that drew a more mature crowd, the type that didn't like loud music more than conversation. The pale grey loose lop and the cloudy sky blue skin-tight yoga pants were enough to draw in men and women, especially because she hadn't showered and still had that damp glow.

"You really went all out?" Fusco envied her sneakers.

"It's called dedication. And I got an itch that needs scratching. By a banjo player." Shaw explained, eyeing the band members that arrived early. Their folky-bluegrass sound was grating but she wasn't there for music.

He snorted and snickered. "What would I do without your charm, Shaw?"

"Go home to one of those TV dinners and run out of lube watching amateur skin flicks online."

"You're a real lady."

"I try." She opened a beer bottle with her teeth. "So what did Animal crackers say when you gave her the boot?"

"That I have _unhealthy_ working relationships and my work-life balance is off."

Shaw cocked her head to the side. "10 o'clock. New dye job, generally awkward, a little-pudgy; bingo: recently divorced. That's your gal. Breath check." Fusco popped 2 mint tic-tacs for good measure.

 _9.11pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Another couple would've put their glad-rags on and gone out dancing, or had dinner and a movie; but Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols stood in Finch's HQ as The Machine dictated their plans for the evening. Finch had brewed some cinnamon tea for her arrival. "This is Mr and Mrs Devoe, Mr Devoe recently gambled away their life insurance policy and Mrs Devoe spent their daughter's college fund on a rather-impressive shoe collection. They have a mediation with their divorce attorneys tomorrow morning-"

"If they make it through the night." Joss chipped in, finding the wooden, aromatic scent under her nose very comforting.

"I'll play bad cop." John offered, flashing yet another badge that most likely belonged to her partner.

Joss resigned her weekend to the madness. "Ahh, what the hell."


	22. Mimic

_A/N: I originally called this Mirage but Mimic seemed more relevant._

 _Keep sending me M words, I have them in a word bank. In some ways writing this felt like a throwback to 4x20, let me know what you think._

 _Random facts: Erasmus is a programme where European Uni students can spend a term (semester) or a year in another European country studying as part of their degree, I've seen all the comedies listed and recommend them, DuChamp is the surname of Laz Alonso's (who plays Paul) character in Breakout Kings, Reggie is inspired by a boy I went to school with and Zahra is my tribute to the Muslimahs I went to college with who exposed me to how fabulous and fashionable they were after having a mainly Catholic education. And lastly, Arjen is inspired by a real Dutch donor but I made everything else up including his name._

 _Credit to Sonmore regarding Shaw's banjo player - it's in one of her jokes - and Ronnie Devoe of N.E. ad BBD for his surname._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 22 Mimic

 _Friday 16th September 2016, 10.04pm, Murray Hill, Midtown, New York_

Somehow seeing Mrs Devoe slashing Mr Devoe's tyres on a Friday night reminded Joss of the first time they made love. Probably because there was no planning; it was a spontaneous, unexpected event with long-lasting repercussions. For starters, he was still around today and their lives were enmeshed today as their bodies were years ago. Secondly, he'd knocked down a wall that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. And lastly, it was the start of life-shifting events they didn't talk about properly until after the fact. She rubbed her hands together and waited for him to come back with the food, since Fusco was somewhere busy getting his groove back and Shaw always brought back something with so many sides mixed in that no-one else could eat it. Usually she'd caution Mrs Devoe about causing damage to property, but since they were married it was her property too so Joss sat tight and tuned the radio to a pirate station that played music of her youth. The Floaters floated on until John brought back some moussaka for her and large burrito for himself.

"Are you cold?" He asked. She nodded and he turned up the heat. "Taylor sounds better."

She immediately felt a pang of guilt because she hadn't checked-in on him in a week. "Yeah?"

"He knows about Waymart, there's a new girl on the scene and we talked about the house."

"Oh. What's her name?"

"Zahra."

"Well, it's better than moping. What does he think about the house?"

"I don't know; he's thinking about it. I want you to feel as safe with him as you do on your own."

She was taken aback by the accusation. "Where did that come from?"

"The house." He said matter-of-factly, unaware of the trigger button he pushed.

She felt an urge to explain the inexplicable. "John-"

"I'll still wait. But I'd like you to trust me to find a place that's good for all of us." With each word, Joss felt terrible. And sad. He felt her slipping away even though she was still at his side. "Hey, we'll get there."

She nodded slowly. But the damage was done and before she knew it she was crying and John wished he'd kept his mouth shut. She couldn't tell him she felt like she was letting him down because she didn't have the words. He felt like a jerk because there were no tissues in the car, just the sweater from his gym bag. She blew her nose on it.

 _Saturday 17th September 2016, 11.06am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

The only thing that got Shaw out of her post-coital slumber quicker than the promise of food was the promise of freshly-squeezed juice. Rather than the orange-kiwi-strawberry she was used to, this juice was Zoe-flavoured and came in the form of a handsome dirty-blonde man with a widow's peak that put Anderson Cooper's to shame. She didn't mind doing the walk of shame, after putting in work with the banjo player in the back seat of her Jeep. The Machine pulled up the flight ticket for Arjen Eisink, 48, Netherlands national. His face was slim with a square jaw, his hair was an inch or two too long, but he looked enough like someone they knew for her to pull up a chair and prop her feet up on a desk.

"She is one crazy-"

"Please, Ms Shaw. No profanity before noon. I sent Bear on a play date with a rehabilitated German Shepherd for this occasion."

"Fine, what've we got here?" She scrolled through his donor profile while Finch was a little gleeful he had someone to share this bizarre experience with. "He likes playing Blackjack but not on the tables, he's a Brown Belt in Shotokan…he studied Economics at Maastricht University and has a Masters in International Relations from King's College, London."

Finch filled in the gaps while opening a bottle of artisanal water from a small Pacific island. "Arjen also plays squash recreationally and camped every summer with his family to the age of 23 when he moved out. He's never been married, though a relationship of 6 years ended in a broken engagement on her part. He can't cook well but according to his social media; he makes a nice frittata."

"Eggs." Shaw scoffed.

"And he's a polyglot; speaking fluent English, Dutch and Flemish, and conversational Spanish because of a year in Granada on the Erasmus programme."

Shaw saw this attempt as clear as day. "Where did he serve?"

He smiled, because it was always more fun with someone who could keep up intellectually. "That's where it gets interesting, while Mr Eisink was never in combat he served as a Researcher and Translator for the Dutch Army in Iraq for three years."

"And who does that sound like?" Shaw asked and answered. " _Blonde John_ Van Damme. Check out music collection."

Finch hesitantly confirmed her suspicion. "Whitesnake. Led Zeppelin. Oh my, Jeff Beck. He is indeed _Blonde_ John Van Damme."

"Thank you. Now we agree calling Zoe a crazy bitch isn't profane; it's the accurate assessment of an off-the-books medical professional." He muttered something in agreement and she felt vindicated.

 _1.28pm, Koffee Brown Café, LaGuardia Airport, Queens, New York_

Although she'd read his stats back to read his stats back to front and watched the testimonial videos, Zoe still felt quite nervous being with someone she'd never met. Even the gentleman, Arjen was used to it and offered to take her out so she'd feel relaxed. To the other patrons, they were a good-looking couple; he'd even worn a waistcoat and tie to meet her. But she knew the most important thing they shared were numbers; 180 million sperm count per ml, 87% motility and 7 reported offspring of which he kept in touch with 4. The other 3 children were from married couples. Arjen was unaware of the number of unreported offspring but it could be as many 27 – not counting multiples. "So you work in communications?" He asked, taking a decaf latte with brown sugar.

"Well, it's public relations and image consulting."

"You're nervous." She pulled her hair back behind her ear and nodded, feeling bashful like a teenager on her first date with the quarterback. "Then let's see a show."

"A show?" She hadn't been to the theatre for fun in over a decade. Now, coordinating the Mayor's visit to a community theatre programme for underprivileged kids was more up her street.

"It might help you to relax." He sipped his latte. "Zoe, I don't rush or force things; the more relaxed you are, the more receptive you'll be."

"That was blunt."

"I prefer to get straight to the point. If you don't like theatre, perhaps a movie?"

"Theatre is fine. Really"

He smiled. "Wonderful. That's a nice necklace." She clutched the blue quartzite pendant on her necklace and looked into his green eyes, feeling something she couldn't describe.

 _2.12pm, Murray Hill, Midtown, New York_

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, the Devoes' divorce mediation quickly went to hell in a hand-basket with Mrs Devoe being escorted from the building. But less than an hour later Mr Devoe emerged from a taxi, seeing as his car was still parked in the same spot with its tyres slashed and they commenced to arguing; with him on the ground and his couldn't-be-sooner-soon-to-be-ex-wife berating him from the 3rd storey apartment. Fortunately, Joss had watched a minibus collect their children earlier for one of those 'take-the-kids-out-the-city' programmes. John looked at her. "Aren't you gonna do something?"

"I am doing something." She replied. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" He asked.

"That." A pile of bleached clothes fell from the 3rd storey. Joss put on a black denim jacket. "Assault. You take the back; in case she runs."

"Got it."

 _4.16pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Taylor felt better than he had in months, so much so that it didn't set him off when Reggie asked if he'd 'hit that yet' in their webchat. According to him, the scrimmage went well and his dad stayed out of his way seeing as he coached the other team. Taylor noticed his cousin was rubbing his chin as he told him that, just like Uncle Reggie did when he was asked how long he was staying. But Reggie didn't need judgement, he needed a listening ear about how Aleesha was 'playing him' by seeing 'some prick' even though he never gave her a title or acknowledge there was a relationship to speak of. "Just kill it on the field, you're Reggie "da Champ" Duchamp, remember?" Taylor advised, giving him a much-needed ego boost.

Reggie nodded, pumping himself up. "Yeah. I am. I bench-press 290."

"2-90." Taylor repeated for emphasis, humouring him.

"Anyway I gotta suit up."

"The gym?"

Reggie shook his head. "The place you go; the library. You still work there?"

"Yeah." Taylor bit his tongue, there was no need to tell him girls actually went there to study, not today. "Beats retail."

"Got a date with a tutor." He rubbed his hands together like a certain record label executive.

Again, Taylor swallowed his initial response; with a secret 3.4 GPA Reggie didn't need a tutor. "It's not a date."

"It will be." He replied with confidence. "Besides, we're a team; if one of us has a tutor, we _all_ have a tutor."

It was that kind of groupthink that made Taylor drop line while pledging Kappa Lambda Nu earlier that Spring. He didn't 'do' groups. "Okay, wait 'til they find out the academic probation thing's a lie."

"They're not gonna find out." He chucked up the deuces and left.

Taylor knew the thing about social media was it wasn't real. The guys 'humble bragging' in front of cars they supposedly own were in a parking lot somewhere and girls gave themselves artificial 'enhancements' just by sitting on a sink. But when Bella's new avatar, of her as a tree monster, popped up he couldn't pretend he didn't notice her. When she called, he answered.

"Hi." They said in unison.

Her hair was in a braided bun on top of her head, which she did when she deep conditioned it. "What's up?" He asked.

"I'm good, actually really good." Her teeth were flashing so she was either joyful or excited. "You."

"I'm good." She knew it was true, he sounded better; more self-assured. "So what's new?"

"Rota Publishing House just launched their annual competition for short-stories. The deadline's in November but I was wondering if you'd read my submission."

"Sure." He said, with ease. Maybe that's what Mr Gregory meant when he advised all she could give him was friendship.

She raised her eyebrows; she was under the impression she'd left a sour taste in his mouth (which was true) but she should've known better. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that. Send it over."

"You're still a good guy." Taylor had had his fill of 'good guy' speeches for the year; if Bella was going to friend-zone him then he really was better off seeing someone else.

"Hey, I gotta go. But, send it soon, yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

 _5.06pm, Rockwood Hall Park, Pleasantville, New York_

Arjen was a gentleman in an old-fashioned way; a door-opening, hold-the-umbrella and take-off-a-lady's-coat-at-dinner kind of way. And sure enough, Zoe started to relax. She let herself believe it was real, after all, she'd hand-picked him to make her urgent and pressing dream come true. They decided on Show Boat, because it was one place that had Stalls tickets still available for the 7.30pm show and because she'd always liked Hammerstein. He told her a story about hunting a goose for dinner on a camping trip as a teenager and his younger's disappointment that there wasn't a golden egg inside. She found it charming and actually laughed. Someone didn't find it so funny.

"Gimme a bucket." Shaw told Finch, as they listened in from the café 200 feet away. Bear lay at her left foot as she rubbed his belly with her right.

"Ms Shaw. I thought we were here to investigate. And ensure Ms Morgan was safe?"

"Since when? I'm here 'cause it beats playing Whack-a-mole and the banjo player's at practice all day." She grinned, and it frightened him.

"Well, I for one would like to be nearby just in case Mr Eisink turns out to be less than a gentleman."

" _Fooey Vuitton John_ slings baby batter for a living, how classy."

Even Finch had to smirk at that one. "Where is Detective Fusco? He removed the battery from his phone and he's not at his apartment."

Shaw wasn't one to snitch but she saw it as a victory on her part. "Probably washed it off at the gym and took _Happy Gillmore_ to the mall for a zoot suit. He'll resurface."

Finch didn't know what to make of their unholy alliance. "I have to give Ms Morgan credit; she is one persistent woman."

"So that's what we're calling it." Shaw was disgusted by the double standard. "Say there's a guy, wants a hot girl way _wayyyyy_ out of his league. She blows him off, rejects him, and if she does get with him it's just for money or gifts or…flight tickets, right? So when he gets the memo he'll never really be with her, he goes out and finds a little replica with a bad haircut, or low-self-esteem or a monobrow. He even dresses her up like her and one day he gets her pregnant to trap her 'cause he thinks that'll keep her and that'll show Bitch #1 I could've had her; that's sick as hell. So why is it okay when _Uptown Barbie_ does it?"

"I thought the purpose of gender equality was for women to decide what they wanted to do with their lives."

"Even being a bigger asshole than a man who has a biological advantage? Present company excepted."

He was surprised. "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't care about Zoe; I just think it sucks when people have kids they don't really wanna take care of."

"May I ask where this is coming from?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "I kinda hacked Gen's _ChatCloset_. They're bullying her at the Rich school 'cause she's got a deadbeat benefactor for a guardian."

"I _asked_ Miss Ghirova what she wanted to do for the summer and she suggested the Italian exchange programme. If she's not happy, I can find a friendlier environment."

"That's not the point. Gen's tough – she's gonna make it 'cause she knows what it felt like to be wanted. This spawn of Zoe is just a trophy so she can measure up to Carter." There wasn't a big enough mug of tea in the world for Finch to sip on that one.

 _7.19pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

After booking the Devoes at the local Precinct so they could cool off for the weekend, Joss thought a dose of normality was just what they needed. So she did what she knew how, cooking up some lamb chops, sweet potato mash, southern greens and gravy that would've made her mother proud and would keep them eating leftovers for a week. She figured conversation would go down better on a full stomach. And red, red wine; lots of it. John ate like a caveman, clearing and piling bones and ploughing through each lump of mash with no mercy. Eventually; it was the greens that almost knocked him out, bringing on pre-Itis jitters. After her second glass of cabernet went down, she said the thing that had been on her mind since the previous evening.

"I first moved here because I was afraid Taylor would come home one day and see his Dad had killed himself. And it took a long time to feel safe here but when I did I swore no man could ever make me leave. Not HR. Nobody. And then you said you wanted to me to feel as safe with you as I do by myself; the thing is I don't know if I can feel as safe as I do here, anywhere else. Not even Summerville. And we know nothing happens there 'til you show up." She smiled. "I guess what I'm saying is; I need your help."

8 _.43pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Brock Jeffers, Taylor's green roommate from the tiny town of Jasper, Arkansas just about understood the concept of _Watchflix 'n' Chill_ so as soon as Zahra appeared at the door he made himself scarce. She had added rhinestones to the lilac pashmina she covered her head with and took it off when they were alone. "What's this? Chinese?" She asked, referring to the white and red takeout boxes. She'd never seen brown prawn crackers before.

"Thai food. Pad Thai, yellow penang, tempura."

"Why Thai?"

"I'm used to it. There's this place three block from home called Thai-Phoid."

She raised her eyebrows. "You eat at a restaurant named after a disease?"

"It's smart; wordplay."

"That's like my Uncle naming his place Somalian- _ella_."

He liked smart girls, not just because he was raised to but because he liked the subtle humour that came with it. They usually liked gross-out movies too, which was a bonus. On Thursday, she told him she was born in Bosaso, Somalia but had faint memories since her family moved to St. Pauls when she was 8 and the culture shock made her memories hazy, that she'd never met Prince or been to Lake Minnetonka since everyone asked after that fateful day in April, and that after 10 years of Saturday Arabic School her mom had given up on her ever improving beyond 'satisfactory'.

"So, I was thinking _The Inbetweeners, Inbetweeners 2_ , and _Kevin and Perry Go Large_."

She chose the one she hadn't seen. They agreed Brits made better comedies. "The last one."

"Cool."


	23. Mirage

_A/N: "See you are, just to good to be true, snd I hope there's not some kind of mirage with you..." Credit to Keith Sweat, Ol Skool and Xscape for the title (Am I Dreaming). A song that really nails Joss' state of mind right now. If you remember the big reveal in the video and Left Eye's blonde hair let me know :) More ADW references because I can._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 23: Mirage

 _Sunday 18th September 2016, 12.02pm, St. Luke's Methodist Church, Brooklyn, New York_

If there was one place John thought he wouldn't be on a Sunday morning, it was church. Jail felt more familiar. But he loved Joss, and while he didn't know how to give her the help she asked for, he thought about asking the person who knew her best. Even if that meant volunteering to be shown off, bringing Evelyn and Gregory red wine, and ending up in the Reverend's office. Reverend Harris was quite young, in his late thirties, but had the presence of a man who had walked the Earth for much longer. John couldn't tell if it was an ambush, but seeing as the man in the white collar also had a wife, he figured it couldn't hurt.

"I'll be honest, Jocelyn, we would've loved to host another wedding here at St Luke's, but I have to give a man credit for honouring the extended family." He extended his hand and shook John's genuinely. "Most people forget their roots."

John nodded. _Some people need to forget their roots._ "They do."

"Well, I just wanted to say my door is always open, 16 years in and I'm still learning."

John thought this neatly-shaven man must've gotten married in the 8th grade, Joss hadn't initiated the 'black don't crack' conversation with him yet. "16 years?"

"Yes, of compromise, ups and downs, and some…serious discussions."

Joss squirmed in her seat. "Thank you for your time, Reverend. I promised I'd help Ma get started with lunch."

"Before you go, we'd like to sincerely thank you both for your generous pledge to the after-school programme. I assure you, the children will put the computers to good use. Let us know if you need help collecting them."

John looked over at Joss, completely blind-sighted. _What computers?_ "The computers…yes, you're welcome." She mustered. Clearly Ma wasn't through punishing them.

 _1.19pm, Swann Hotel, Manhattan_

Zoe chose a hotel because of the exit routes and emergency facilities nearby just in case Arjen wasn't who she thought he was. Despite her nerves, she couldn't bring herself to drink last night after all she'd read about fertility. The blonde man woke up before her for 45 minutes of calisthenics; she couldn't remember John's early-morning routine because he was either gone or he had left already. Her Spanish was poor but she could've listened to him translate random phrases into Dutch all night, and because he put her at ease their first two attempts at conception had gone easier than she expected.

"Do you have a preference?" Arjen asked over lunch. She had mushroom tagliatelle with extra cream because dairy made her happy. He chose a rump roast with potatoes and peas.

"Preference?" She repeated, confused.

"Would you like a boy or a girl?" He clarified.

"I suppose a girl…or maybe a boy. I guess not." The truth was she didn't have names picked out or clothes. Her goal was getting pregnant.

He nodded. She felt a connection to this man she hoped would make her a mother although these were questions he asked everyone, even married couples who enlisted his services. And time was running out, he was going back to Vlissingen on the morning of the 18th. "Please don't take a test until I'm gone." He said intuitively.

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it's a process and any stress may inhibit your chances."

He was right, because of his experience. Fate was having a field day with her when Calista called with an emergency that Senator Campbell went on a coke binge in Detroit and was spotted looking sick at a fundraiser. "Take the company credit card and fix it even if you have fly there to do it…Release a statement, blame it on a viral illness, change of season or whatever…you can do it." She rolled her eyes because she wasn't a supportive boss by nature. "You're better than you realise, Calista."

"You really think so?" Calista asked excitedly, in the same tone young women used that gave all their power away to unavailable boyfriends.

"Prove it. Oh and if you're not, you're _fired_." Zoe hung up. "She's not really fired."

Arjen smiled. "How about some music? I like Classic rock myself."

"Mmm, I like pop and easy listening mainly. Like Daniel Bedingfield and John Mayer."

 _1.43pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

After Gregory clarified that Evelyn pledge 4 computers to the neighbourhood kids for the homework club the church ran for kids needing a quiet place to study, and apologised profusely for it, he volunteered to play sous chef while Joss caught him up on her son's progress. He finely chopped the red cabbage which Evelyn hated but he always convinced her to eat. "How's the youngblood?"

"Better. There's a new girl but he hasn't said anything to me about her."

Gregory knew that sleuthing was an inherited trait. "That's a good sign."

"Yeah, hopefully he can focus more this year."

"I meant for John. But that's also true."

"Yep – the Secret Army that plots in the night in their virtual man cave. No girls allowed."

Gregory smiled. "John's a good influence then."

Joss thought it was probably the first and last time in life John would ever be called a good influence. "Yeah, he is."

"Try to worry less, Joss." He said, knowingly, since he was bald and kids lived across three continents having taken their fair share of his follicles with them.

She sighed. "I try."

"And sing more. It's good for stress you know, relieve the tension."

She rubbed her neck as she stood over the simmering pot of chickpeas, brown lentils, butternut squash and coconut milk and thought about the request she'd made the night before. "You're right."

On the balcony, besides the comfortable loveseat garden bench; there was a small pepper plant and a potted pear tree because Gregory wanted to grow their food like his family did back in Trinidad. "Let me guess, she's giving you headaches already?" Evelyn said knowingly, as she broke off a small wispy branch months before pruning season.

"How'd you know?"

"She's my daughter." She looked up at him. "And she _used_ to spend a lot of time with me." John knew she must have been referring to the first 18 years of her life because the homicide detective didn't spend a lot of time with _him_ and they worked her second job together. "So what's the problem?"

"It's not a problem, it's a puzzle."

She smiled. "With moving parts?" He nodded. "Then you really _are_ married. What's wrong? Is she not being a team player? She was never good with teams; starting with netball."

 _If only you knew_. "We can't decide where we want to live."

"I see." She pulled off a weak looking pepper and decided to cook it that day. "Look John, even though I think you'd be better off in Brooklyn where I can keep my _eye on you,_ I don't think the place is the issue. It's getting Jocelyn to 'up sticks'. So, in order to make _that_ mountain move you have to do for her what she can't do for herself." John looked confounded and Evelyn felt at last she was winning.

 _2.31pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

After falling asleep around 6am after leaving Zahra at Douglass with grossout scenes etched on her brain, Taylor woke up to an inquisitive roommate and an email with a short story attached. "If you're a Christian, why are you with a _Muzz-lum_ girl?" Brock blurted out in his country twang, already in his freshly-ironed church clothes from that megachurch that advertised on buses and billboards all over the city.

Taylor didn't know much about the green, small-town guy except his dream was to work as a researcher for the _International Institute of Creationist Science._ "'Cause I don't care about labels, God is God. And for the record, Muslims believe in Jesus." Brock shook his head disapprovingly. In Jasper they referred to guys like Taylor as 'lukewarm' and 'led-astray', even though he was the same guy who told him to stop leaving his wallet in his back pocket and walking around with wads of cash. For the most part, they peacefully co-existed so Brock ignored Taylor's exclamations as he read Bella's short story, _Jumping through Hoops_.

First of all, he knew it was about their relationship: Isabella was Carmen the trainee neurosurgeon and protagonist while Taylor was Connor the inner-city basketball coach. He distinctly thought she was using it to get back at him, like the climax where Carmen threw a basketball at his chest, because he wouldn't respond to her in an argument no matter what she said, before he left her alone on the court and broke her heart. And then Carmen went into surgery and nearly paralysed her patient due to her fragile emotional state (Taylor figured if art imitated life, Bella probably got a tragic grade like a B or something). And then Carmen was headhunted by a private clinic in California while Connor was stuck in Baltimore until he called her five years later to ask her how far she was from the airport. That 4-letter M word Reggie was fond of was on the tip of his tongue when he decided to call his dad instead of ripping her work to shreds because she couldn't handle criticism and it would hurt her feelings.

Paul and Gina were waiting for their stacks of pancakes to arrive; she was happy because the choir sang her favourite song – _When the saints go marching in_ – twice. "…And you're _sure_ it's about you?"

Taylor read for proof. " _While Connor was never the best basketball player, that didn't matter because he made up for his passing performance with enthusiasm_. You know we were 4-2-7 in soccer."

Paul understood how he felt because he spent waiting at the sorority house to ask Joss why she wasn't talking to him or who that jackass at the newspaper was who bought her lunch twice or where she and her sorors went for Spring Break when he 'needed space'. "Don't react."

"What am I supposed to do? _Tell her how I feel_?"

If he was his father, Paul would've responded to his son's sarcasm with some insensitive rebuke about whining like a little girl. Or a white girl. Or a little white girl. He mouthed an apology to Gina who didn't mind; after Charmaine's lamentations about being a single mom to her beloved Lance Jr, she was relieved her man was a father to his son. Paul took the pragmatic approach; even though Joss wrote a sports column at Milton, she never highlighted his fumbles even when they weren't on good terms. "You said you'd read it, right?"

Taylor wondered where he was going. "Right?"

"Well…you read it." Paul thought on his feet. "Now you can give her feedback like you promised."

"Dad-"

"Tay, you promised. So you're gonna do it…In 10 words or less."

It wasn't a bad idea at all. "Is that Susan talking?"

"I'm hearing, _thanks Dad for stopping me from making an ass of myself like last year_."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. 10 words Tay, you can do it."

It seemed like the only choice he had. "Okay. 10 words."

"And how's the new girl? Zaria?" Paul still watched reruns of _The Parent'Hood_ amongst other sitcoms.

" _Zahra_ , like the store but with an H. And she's good."

"Good."

"Say hi to Gina."

"I will. Keep your head up, Kid." Paul hoped and believed his son could show more finesse than he did in his youth, despite the temptation to hurt because he was hurt.

Even though he did it with an attitude that showed he was still 19 years young and had a lot of growing to do, he managed to produce a three-word review.

\- Needs more work.

 _5.34pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Outside her mom's building, Joss' car was gone and a Triumph Trophy motorbike stood in its place. "What are you doing?"

He put the blue helmet on her head and opened the front. "Do you trust me?" She wondered where they were going, if they had snacks, what would happen if Finch called, whether they were crossing state lines, if they had water and enough gas, when they would get home, if he'd ordered the designer tote bag for her mom's upcoming birthday, just how smart and pretty Taylor's new girl was and whether it would rain; all while John secured her purse in the helmet lock. "Do you?" He asked again, before taking his spot in front. With a moment's hesitation, she became his passenger for better or worse.


	24. Miniature

_A/N: A common question is, "Has Zoe thought this through?" To borrow from the original Destiny's Child, "No, no, no, no, no."_

 _For **OpheliaBlack** \- yes, Evelyn needs control like she needs her next breath especially after she was completely overthrown by Finch in Summerville. _

_Random facts: Clogs are traditional Dutch shoes, Vlissingen is a real place with nice sandy beaches, and Searching for Sugarman is a great documentary about Rodriguez the musician. 'I think of you' makes me well up every time - so I can't listen to it._

 _Back to the fic..._

 _As always, enjoy._

* * *

Chapter 24: Miniature

 _Sunday 18_ _th_ _September 2016, 8.26pm, Scranton, Pennsylvania_

For someone who didn't travel much because she filled her time with work, special assignments from Finch, and ad-hoc repairs to John's less-serious bodily harm, Joss didn't think they had crossed state lines until he pulled her helmet off revealing the warmly-lit miniature city below. It could've been the setting of an old movie about hardworking people who drank the same dink at the same bar every Friday for a lifetime. Maybe it was the New England-ness of it but Joss found it charming. Her hands were cold from not having gloves, just John's pockets to rest her hands in when she could. Other than that she held on to him for dear life as she made their journey in the dark. "What'd you think?" He asked as they took a short stroll to an Irish pub that was run by a family, not a Celtic extension of the Mob like quite a few in New York.

She rubs her hands together. "It's quaint, loud enough, chilled-out." He nodded. "Where are we?"

"Scranton, PA, the Electric city."

She stopped walking. "John, what is this place?"

He took a deep breath. "Endgame."

 _8.31pm, Swann Hotel, Manhattan_

To pass the time and ease her nerves about their last try for natural insemination, Arjen initiated a game of blackjack; finding that she was far better than he was at it. "Where did you learn?" He asked, knowing he was holding a losing hand.

"In college at the Student Union." Her hair was braided loosely to the right because her neck was sweaty. "We couldn't have a club because the college couldn't be seen promoting gambling."

"I see. You live an exciting life, Zoe."

She blushed. "Is that so?"

He scratched his widow's peak. "I think so. It's an interesting life you've created for yourself. The people you know, the work you do, it's glamourous. _Betoverend._ "

 _8.32pm, Tobin's, Scranton, Pennsylvania_

Because Joss was so puzzled and seemingly scared of the word 'endgame' John did what a good husband did; rushed her to the nearest pub for a drink to warm and loosen her up at the same time. With a strong cider to share, she was more receptive to what he meant. "I like it here, it has everything we need; it's close enough to go hunting and there's a Junior High School where you could mentor young girls." She was surprised he remembered that was one of her unfulfilled passions, when she couldn't recall the last time they spoke about it. "And it's small enough to drive into the city when we want."

Joss hadn't heard him talk about the future outside of their wedding vows, the parked conversation about the house, apartment, cave or cabin hey would move to, and his confession about planning to take his life before they first met. "Drive from where?"

"A 3-bedroom house with a big-enough backyard for a grill. And a couple grandkids when Taylor gets it together. That's if I can keep ducking." He joked because she was in her neutral 'thinking' face where he couldn't tell what she was thinking. No-one could. She felt him touch her hand, bringing her back out of her daze. "Joss?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. Never figured you'd want the quiet life."

"Eventually," He explained, "and I can shoot all the deer I want at Towanda Creek without Uncle Sterling pulling rank on me."

She smiled, because she knew how much it meant for him to take that step. Just thinking about it was a big deal. And she liked the scenery, and the slower pace. Most importantly she liked the idea of John the Silver Fox, semi-retired, happy. Happy with her. But that couldn't stop the tug of her heart; that it was a beautiful fantasy and but she wasn't ready yet. "It's a great life; the one you told me about, but John, can we take our time?"

He understood. No spontaneous, motorcycle ride could move her heart along faster and for once he would have to be patient and give her time to detach and fee ready to receive. So there was only one answer he could give. "Sure."

 _Monday 19_ _th_ _September 2016, 7.03am, Swann Hotel, Manhattan_

Zoe Morgan felt far from _betoverend_ the morning Arjen left for his flight to Amsterdam. She couldn't help but feel a spark with him after the long weekend they'd spent together. Overall she felt better about life and although they said goodbye and shook hands, making it feel like a business transaction; she equally hoped it worked and, if it didn't, that she could see him again. Maybe on his turf. _Where is Vlissingen anyway?_

 _Wednesday 21_ _st_ _September 2016, 7.11am, Joss' apartment_

"You know I love you, don't you?" Joss asked as she got dressed for work and put in her simple studs because there had been some gang warfare that weekend and she knew she was going to be meeting some victims' families that day.

"Of course I do." He massaged the ice pack into the bruise on his stomach because he took a few hits for Shaw to take her shot, in the early hours that morning.

"And you know there's no-one else I'd take that journey to Scranton with you. Step by step. John, don't-"

He got out of bed anyway even though the swelling always went down faster with rest and John couldn't trust himself with codeine to ease the pain. It was a slippery slope in his eyes. "I love you. Only you." Joss wanted to hold him but her touch would just make it worse. His face wasn't off limits though as she took his prickly chin in her hands and kissed his mouth without that lip-biting that would've made her late for work.

 _11.06am, Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn_

Fusco finally arrived after not showing up at the Precinct and making his partner wait two hours so they could speak to the family together. It wasn't unusual for families to react violently to such news, literally and figuratively, particularly in such a crime-ridden part of the city. She would've been nervous waiting in her car if it wasn't for the siren she'd placed on top, although bearing witness to a male drug addict performing oral sex in exchange for drugs was its own trauma to be unpacked later. "Sorry Carter, I overslept."

He smelt like soap and mouthwash, like he'd taken four showers and took 'rinse and repeat' too seriously. Usually cops only did that when they needed to cover up the evidence of their last weekend. "You off the wagon?" She asked casually, because if he was; she was definitely kicking him out of her car.

"No. I just had a busy weekend. Didn't get much sleep." He explained, used to that cynical look of hers.

"Well, looks like you and Hazel make a good team out of hours."

"She split. Couldn't handle my schedule. Thought I was boning Sam."

She looked at him and they both burst into laughter at the prospect of imminent Armageddon. "You don't look too unhappy about it."

"Can't be." He would never tell Sameen "Sporty Spice" Shaw she was right. _Never_.

"So can I blame Shaw for this boost of confidence? She's one hell of a wingman."

He shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to give her due credit. "What happened in your meeting with Noguerra?"

"He said the state is pressing charges of Identity Fraud against Aaron Canuto but they offered him a plea deal about the operation seeing as he's the last Canuto brother standing. And I don't think Noguerra likes me."

"Probably bad vibes about breaking the Blue code." Fusco knew all about that from being in HR – and being out of it.

"You got any juice for me before we go in there and tell the next-of-kin it's a positive I.D.?"

He nodded. "Shaw told me all about _Legs_ and the _Sperminator_."

"What?"

"You know, _Captain America_ with clogs on. We don't do secrets." He realised she didn't know what he was talking about. "Oh crap."

She swallows. "Zoe found a guy in Europe that looks like John to knock her up?"

Fusco couldn't take the foot out of his mouth with a podiatrist, two pliers and a chainsaw. "Except he's blonde and never saw the inside of a jail cell. Plays cards and everything. Creepy huh?"

She didn't find it funny. "Someone should stop her."

"Come on, Carter, I thought baby fever was a legit thing."

"It's not baby fever; it's transference. I feel for her baby."

"But you don't know she's even pregnant."

Her woman's intuition told her so. "Yes I do."

 _4.55pm, Bartholomew & Chantal Sloane Library, Emory University_

The newly-named Sloane Library, after a $35 million cash injection from its alumni, had a hangout spot near the vending machines with beanbags for seats and mats on the floor for 'alternative' learners who were more motivated by unconventional surroundings. Taylor knew that spot was where he could find the stoners with 4.0 GPAs, the trust-fund babies whose superior and costly education was the source of their success, and the artists who like to debate about anything, anytime, anyplace. So he was surprised to find Zahra in a debate about the validity of _Searching for Sugarman_. "He _was_ better than Bob Dylan." She repeated, just because it was making someone red with exasperation. Debate wasn't her thing, but getting a rise out of people was. "I don't even know why we're still talking."

Taylor picked a few abandoned books off the floor. "What was that about?"

"Nothing. I'm used to it at home. So, my friend from middle school, has a podcast on at 8. Wanna come over and hear it?"

"Okay, it is like…Arabic?" It didn't sound as stupid in his head as it did coming out of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. " _Sometimes_. And sometimes it's Chance the Rapper. It's Hip-hop."

"That's a thing? Arabic Hip-hop?"

"Uhhh, _Meen Erhabi?_ " She shook her head at his blank expression. "Where've you been?"

"Uhhh, New York?"

"Anyway, she goes by _DJ Asmatic_."

"I thought you didn't like stuff named after diseases."

"Her name's Asma." Then she quoted him. "It's _wordplay_."


	25. Mayday

_A/N: This is for **Moonie** who cracked me up. Shaw's lines in the first scene are inspired by **SWWoman** (you know why #greasefire)._

 _Thanks for putting up with me and my never beta'd writing. Credit to DreadWomen for the chapter title (still collecting M words)._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

 _Three weeks later, Thursday 13_ _th_ _October, 1.43pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

While Finch and Shaw were tracking a shipment of illegal 72% proof hooch, The Machine interrupted them with an announcement in the form of an hCG quantitative test from _The Nurture Medical Center & Research Facility_ in Chelsea belonging to _Morgan, Zoe C._ and confirming her pregnancy by a certain Dutch doppelganger. Finch dropped and broke his china teacup in shock. " _No, Ms Shaw; we can't do bodily harm to Ms Morgan_." She mocked him with a sneer. "Look where that got us."

"Oh my!"

"That's all you can say? She would've been out the hospital making a _full_ recovery by now but no, you just had to let her live out some rejected storyline from _Sex in the City_."

Finch blinked nervously; various scenarios ran through his head – none of them good because they all started with telling his favourite Detective something she didn't want to hear. "Well, although it's quite peculiar one has to admire Ms Morgan for her perseverance."

"Don't you mean pu-"

"Please Ms Shaw; I don't need any more imagery."

 _1.50pm, Harlow Residence, Dumbo, Brooklyn, New York_

Fusco thought it was probably better for everyone that John was (mis)using Detective Stills' badge again on the canvas with him while Carter took her mom out for a birthday lunch. The news that _Legs_ was _preggers_ made him choke on his energy drink, almost spilling neon green down his shirt. What was even more surprising was John's cavalier response; that now Zoe had what she wanted, she would simply go away. _Poor naïve John_. It was all to mask his relief that he was _not the father_ ; because if he was, Scranton, Philly and the entire state of Pennsylvania would be up in flames by now. And with that ridiculous and myopic response, Fusco made a mental note to ask Glasses if The Machine could put a nice buffer about 200 feet between _Legs_ and his partner at all times, for their safety.

 _1.51pm, The Nurture Medical Center & Research Facility_, _Chelsea_

"…If you need anything, or have any questions, please don't hesitate to call." Dr Carver-Bee ended the appointment with another happy customer. "Let's get Baby Morgan here safely."

Zoe smiled but inside she felt victorious; because she'd done it, it was really happening, like she won.

 _1.54pm, The Mockingbird Bakery, Lower East Side, Manhattan_

The voucher for her extended gel mani-pedi fit nicely in Evelyn's brand new cream and white designer tote bag; birthday gifts from her fully-forgiven son-in-law and her daughter. That wasn't the only indulgence on the table; Evelyn gave into her sweet tooth with a triple chocolate muffin and a " _fat, no fatter, does anyone know what a fat slice is?_ " of caramel cream cake, proving why Gregory was right to keep her off the sugar cane pipe most of the time. Joss' stomach was in knots and she didn't know why, so she sipped her peppermint tea and passed on the baked goods – a double punishment.

"…and poor Reggie _embarrassed_ himself at the scrimmage because Senior was there acting like a tall teenager on the sidelines. Luckily he made up for it against the Seahawks. You won't believe Senior moved to Columbia in that tacky 4x4 with a woman named _LaDonna_ and three-and-a-half kids."

"How'd you know all this?" Joss asked, as her stomach would not quit. She didn't know what was wrong because she'd been eating much better lately.

Evelyn didn't relish in sharing this particular secret. "Carolyn told me on a call." She lowered her voice. "From jail."

"No."

"You know the effect he has on her, she was so humiliated she drank too much wine and tried to drive herself home." Joss shuddered because she didn't want her cousin to become a hashtag over a jackass she never should've married in the first place. "The lawyer advised her to plead no contest to the DUI, take a fine, attend an alcohol abuse class for 6 months and take a 6-month driving license suspension to get the misdemeanour wiped off her record. So now she's carpooling or taking the bus to work and _all_ of Reggie's games."

Joss felt so selfish, so self-involved. "I should've called."

"She'd rather you didn't, she's still feeling raw about it. Thank God she kept her job." Evelyn could tell something was wrong with her own daughter and tried to fish. "So how's John?"

"All good."

"Will we be seeing him at service on Sunday?"

"No, probably at Christmas."

Evelyn shook her head. "What's going on with you? You look…not yourself."

Joss remained tight-lipped about it. She couldn't tell her mother there's a woman who used John as a prototype in her sperm search and was currently in her first trimester, because Evelyn would insist on driving to her apartment to ask her if she had shame. So Joss told the only truth she was willing to disclose; "Capt. Noguerra has it out for me. The way he talks to me in our meetings, the questions he asks; it's like he's waiting for me to mess up so he can throw the whole reference library at me."

"Don't worry Jocelyn, he's leaving _long_ before you are. You're Joe's daughter, no-one can take you out." Evelyn reassured her but it was clear whatever was on her mind was much deeper.

"Thanks Ma, I'm gonna take the rest of the day off." Her stomach churned with discomfort because as easy as it was to hate Zoe for crossing the line, she felt genuine concern for the unborn Baby Morgan whose very existence was the result of self-interest gone wild. And for that reason, Joss knew Zoe wasn't going anywhere, because she couldn't let her.


	26. Maury

_A/N: Someone asked me if this roommate was crazy too (ref: Malik in Body Count). My answer is; crazy is a relative term._

 _Random rambling: I named this Maury after the paternity-test talk show host because it should be an adjective that describes dysfunctional behaviour, maybe it can replace 'ratchet' e.g. "She's so Maury."_

 _Trigger warning: contains discussion of miscarriage. If you're uncomfortable, I'll see you next chapter._

* * *

Chapter 26: Maury

 _Thursday 13_ _th_ _October, 8.27pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

There was something powerful about what a hot bath could do to ease the tension in her shoulders, neck, and her stomach. Finch once told her in medieval times they believed the seat of emotions was the stomach not the heart, and since hers had churned all day long with the mishmash of feelings. John always knew something was up when Joss got her hair wet voluntarily, and the fact she let the ends of her hair get wet while leaning back on his chest was something he didn't take lightly. But it all made sense when she unburdened herself of a secret that was as old as an eighth-grader. "You were pregnant?"

Joss tried to explain it as best as she could. Back in late 2001, just after she received the date of her deployment; she knew Paul was too fragile – on the edge of breaking – to hear the news. So she never told him. After a horrible Christmas where Taylor played happily at Grandma's house while Joss sat in the driveway in tears, she knew it was over and that she, Taylor and the baby would make three all by themselves. Perhaps her then-husband sensed it, because on Boxing Day or The Day he left as she remembered it; their huge fight ended when she asked him something that could've come directly from her brutish father-in-law's reckless mouth, "Why can't you be a _man_?" That was the last thing she said to him before he hung his head, grabbed his jacket and walked out the door not to be seen for months. "…So I called Ma, 'cause Taylor was still over there and I told her not to panic." It still made her cry when she allowed it to rise up from that deep place inside, beneath the rubble and debris, which was why she did her best not to think about it. For some reason she would ever understand, Zoe's news triggered it, and she couldn't get it off her mind.

John said the only think he thought could help the situation. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna kick his ass."

She was comforted by the offer. "He doesn't know."

"You never told him?"

"He wasn't like he is now; I couldn't talk to him back then. No-one could."

"And since then?"

She sighed. "What's the use?"

 _And Zoe…_ "I'm sorry, Joss."

"I know you are. We can't change the past." Then she shared something no-one – not even her mother – knew. "Maya for a girl and Maxwell for a boy." All he could do was kiss her cheek.

 _Friday 14_ _th_ _October, 10:40am, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York_

Calista arrived in the morning because she figured if was going to get fired, she'd rather get it over with first thing so she could drown her sorrows at Club Roxy with her friends. "Congratulations, they're dairy-free. If you're still doing that."

"I'm not, but thanks. I'll take every one." Zoe's doctor had recommended that particular brand of maternity vitamins. "Let's talk about Senator Campbell."

When the eager young woman with the bad ombre dye job arrived at his home in Detroit, he fired Zoe and ZCM Consulting on the spot because she sent a 'kid' in her place. "I know. You're done with me."

"Screw the alleged cokehead Senator. We have work to do. And there's _always_ someone new." She said with the confidence of her pregnancy brimming until it overflowed. "Call Calvin Presse of Print Presse Publishing and set up lunch; he's an old blackjack buddy from college who needs to boost his profile even if he doesn't know it."

 _5.10pm, Turner Hall, Emory University, Atlanta_

Taylor threw his heavy book bag on the bed, prepared to lock himself in until Multivariable Calculus made sense again. It was nothing like high school. "That girl was here." Brock informed him, dressed in a freshly-ironed shirt and slacks like he was going somewhere important.

"She has a name. It's Zahra, you know; like the store they don't have in your town."

Brock thought it was his duty to embrace Taylor as a brother in Christ. "I'm going to a class later; you can come if you want." He suggested, handing him one of those laminated postcards that usually advertised club nights with images of singers and actresses who wouldn't be there.

"Accountability class?" Taylor read. Seeing as he hadn't gone broke since his first semester, Freshman year, when Paul broke down how hard it was to buss tables and clean football stands in college while keeping his scholarship at Milton with no help from home, he figured he was _very_ accountable. "No thanks."

"At least think about it. Young men should set the standard and help each other."

Taylor couldn't help but notice that slogan was on the advert. "Look Brock, I don't know what you think about me but-"

"Hear me out. Every time she's over here; you're giving away a _piece_ of your heart."

"You gotta be kidding me." Taylor had heard this kind of talk before, usually from someone on a soapbox with the wrong date of the Armageddon.

Brock continued. "And then you won't have a _whole_ heart to give to your wife."

"I'm 19. If I had a wife, my mom would stop my _whole heart_ the day she killed me."

In their training, they were advised to persist. "But you can have a _new_ heart, a whole heart, and I can help you with that."

Taylor thought humour would help. "A heart transplant?"

"In a spiritual sense."

"I'm studying tonight. All night. And tomorrow."

"We meet every-"

"I'm _not_ going. And for the record, everything's not about sex. She's here 'cause I like her. But if it's a problem; I'd get it if you wanna switch rooms. And by the way, your credit card's poking out of your pocket again." Taylor stated unpacking his bag; he even got _Calculus for Dummies_. Brock resolved that he wouldn't be able to be an example if he left so he decided to drop talk of the class in aim of a greater goal. Taylor was just relieved he didn't have to hear his mouth anymore.

 _6.42pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York_

After staying up late running through different scenarios with The Machine, Finch came to the conclusion offense was the best defence so the best way to manage the impact of Zoe's pregnancy was to befriend her. It was clear that she didn't have friends, despite the thousands of connections she had on a popular professional social media site. "If you don't mind, I asked the chef to prepare _Bacheofe_." Zoe didn't mind at all. In her eyes, Harold really knew how to treat a lady – right down to the Alsatian meat stew he ordered of lamb, pork, leeks, and root vegetables marinated in white wine. "You have my sincerest congratulations."

"Thank you." After all, Zoe had always preferred the company of men.


	27. Machiavellian

_A/N: This chapter was called Morgue, then Modern but just got its title about 5 mins before posting. Makaveli is also on my M-word bank because he's the greatest and Makaveli never lied. In my world the election is not happening so it's not happening in the fic either._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 27: Machiavellian

 _Saturday 15_ _th_ _October, 1.31am, East New York, Brooklyn_

Despite being the first homicide detectives on the scene at Van Siclen Ave where Salome Veracruz was shot and robbed during a drug run in her boyfriend's place, the narcotics detectives were stonewalling them; not even letting the paramedics take the body. The 19-year-old woman from Washington Heights was shot eight times, an excessive use of gunfire as she was only carrying $5000 of cocaine. Fusco was embroiled in a heated discussion with Detective Valdes, who had worked with Cal some years ago, but he wasn't winning. After some choice swear words were exchanged, including a portmanteau ending in "tard" that he must've learnt from Shaw, Fusco retreated and they returned to her sedan. Of course, on a night like this John would be in the backseat of her sedan. "Evening, folks." John said casually.

"If it isn't _Ben 10_." Fusco joked.

Joss smiled at the glassy blue eyes in her rear-view mirror. "Are we moonlighting tonight?"

"Not exactly, I have information on why the narcs are being so cagey though."

"Great. Let's hear it, snitch."

"The boyfriend, Anjel Soldado, moves product for Kairo. And the DEA wants him so the narcs are co-operating."

Fusco wasn't on that particular rescue mission. "Who's Kairo?"

"A wannabe drug kingpin who resorts to kidnapping relatives so his soldiers in jail won't talk." Joss explained.

"And I'm guessing there's a shiny new report on the latest kidnapping in that pile on your desk." Fusco teased.

Joss fired back. "And I'm guessing Hazel bailed 'cause there's no smoke without fire. _Team Shusco_."

"So anyway, I bet Narcotics is trying to take down Kairo – medium fish – as bait for a big fish. What's his name?" Fusco asked.

"If I tell you, you can't deny knowing later."

 _10.40am, Turner Hall, Emory University_

After a night of ones, zeros, _x_ 's, _y_ 's and more Greek letters than a fraternity conference, Taylor started on a large bowl of multi-coloured cereal and a coffee from the malfunctioning machine down the hall that was 'giving' cups away for free. He could barely remember a thing, even though he'd learnt the night before and started to get that anxious feeling he was going to flunk his next test. Brock watched him eat, waiting for an in. Taylor deleted an unread message from Isabella because its subject was "Longlisted!" and he wasn't happy for her. It was clear he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, and his roommate wasn't going to help turn it around.

"She stopped by last night with some friends." Brock told him. "But you'd already crashed."

Taylor sighed because he thought they'd been over it already. " _Who_ did?"

"You know."

"Her name's _Zahra_. It won't kill you to say it."

Brock went pink because he wasn't used to confrontation. "She…Zahra, came by 'cause you missed her calls."

The smartphone with the gel Gameboy phone case was out of battery. "Okay. I'll call her later. You want some or something?" Taylor asked, because he kept staring at him and it was putting him off his favourite cereal.

"No, I already ate. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Brock posed a philosophical question. "D'you ever feel bad about what you've done? Not _you_ -you, just…"

"Hypothetically?"

"Yeah."

"No more than anyone else does." Taylor reasoned, finishing off the cereal. "You feel bad 'cause you're human, then you get over it."

"What if you can't?"

Taylor shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Talk to someone, I guess."

Brock perked up. "Like, to an _accountability partner_?"

Taylor didn't want to know what that was so he didn't ask. "I meant your friends, parents…" He thought of Gregory. "Sensei."

Brock looked puzzled. "Sen-what?"

"Forget it."

 _3.30pm, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York_

In the name of being efficient, Calista wouldn't rest until Zoe returned Tamsin Ashe's calls as she'd left two messages already. The college student thought she was a fashion designer or a socialite after seeing the Californian area code, but she wasn't. Tamsin was Zoe's mother, and they were somewhat-estranged as being estranged would've been too much effort. It had been eight months since they last spoke, so Tamsin was quite surprised that her image-conscious daughter had 'grown' since their last meeting. In contrast, Mother looked like a soap star.

"What have I missed?" Tamsin used her usual greeting.

Zoe didn't see the point in holding it in, she'd even told the doorman downstairs when she picked up her mail. "Your grandchild's on its way."

Tamsin was glad she didn't jump the gun and recommend a hot spinning class. "Congratulations"" She exclaimed, though the stillness of her non-moving forehead contradicted her broad, laser-white smile. "So when do I meet him?"

 _You don't._ "He's not in the picture."

Tamsin flicked her chestnut brown hair. "Well, such is life. Congratulations. I _have_ to see you." Zoe forced a smile.

 _4.07pm, Watergate Apartments, East 54_ _th_ _Street, Midtown, New York_

When Joss agreed to view a place to see what his taste was like, John didn't think it was a test or anything other than a sign that she might be warming up to the idea of moving out together. _Poor naïve John_. From the moment Joss saw the two entry closets and the second bathroom, something didn't sit right with her. She gave him credit for getting a second bedroom, that would presumably function as a gym/gun storage unit until Taylor came home for the holidays, but it didn't feel like home. "Can we have a moment?" She asked the estate agent.

"Of course, Mrs Nichols. I'll be in the living room."

As soon as they were alone, John knew what was up. "You don't like it. I thought you like the _modern, minimalist_ thing."

"I do buuuuuut..." She looked around the Master bedroom. "It looks like a place you'd run to or from. Like a pit stop apartment."

He didn't know what she meant. "Pit stop?"

"You know, like the place in Harlem Heights, then the loft in Soho, and the condo in Tribeca, and that hole in Hell's Kitchen under the Korean restaurant."

John hadn't considered settling down until they made it to Scranton. If they made it to Scranton. "I thought you'd want somewhere for the meantime."

"I do, just something more homey. A sanctuary in the big bad city."

He nodded. "Like your place."

"John, that's not what I meant. We can see somewhere else, right?"

He didn't know what she wanted which meant they were definitely married. "Right."

 _5.29pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Armed with a stuffed burrito, snacks and an energy drink called _Hi-score_ that was banned from his school because of its taurine content, Taylor attempted to crack the ass-kicking, confounding form of calculus because he was no punk. But two people stood in his way, one was at his door when he returned and she wasn't happy.

"What happened last night? _Almond Mocha_ was playing at Subterrain, remember?" His blank face showed he didn't. At all. "Tay?"

He couldn't come up with an excuse to make it better so he chose the truth. _Poor, naïve Taylor_. "I forgot. This thing is driving me crazy so…I have to get back to it."

Her meme-worthy face forewarned him. "So you just _forgot_ making plans with me?"

 _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap_. His groceries felt heavier in his hands, even though they weren't. "I _really_ need to study. Can you come back tomorrow?" It sounded much more plausible in his head.

"Fine." Her tone said it was anything but.

Reflecting on his dad's (and the Fresh Prince's) advice that 'girls ain't nothing but trouble', Taylor turned the key to find a guy with a gingham shirt and slacks sitting on Brock's bed, as his roommate stood in front of him and read from a sheet of lined paper. "…and I was wrong for telling Cherie she looked nice, 'cause her outfit was defrauding and, umm, I was complimenting immodesty."

"What the-?" Taylor exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

Brock went pink again, and the guy on the bed stood up and extended his hand. "I'm Hugh Barker-Wells, I've heard a lot about you."

Taylor couldn't shake his hand because all he saw was scum. "What were you doing?"

Neither Brock or Hugh could explain, and Hugh had that look on his face most small children had when they were caught pulling the dog's tail. "Sharing." Hugh said, with conviction.

"So you're the accountability partner?" Taylor asked.

Hugh nodded emphatically and recited from that shiny postcard Taylor had thrown away with his gum wrappers. "Us young men should set the standard, and help each other."

Taylor knew instinctively the best outcome was for Hugh to leave. "I've gotta study. Calc test on Wednesday." Hugh looked comfortable, like it was his room. "And I need to write my _World Religion_ paper on Buddhism. I read out _loud_."

Hugh couldn't leave fast enough. "Well, I have to prepare for tomorrow. See you at 9?"

Brock nodded and opened the door for him to leave. They didn't know what to say to each other; because Brock was embarrassed and because Taylor was embarrassed for him. Whatever they were doing was wrong, Taylor knew that much, but there was no point in adding to the humiliation so instead he asked, "D'you have burritos in Jasper?"

Brock shook his head. "But I like the frozen ones."

Taylor shuddered at the thought; those two words should never be spoken in the same sentence.


	28. Mercury

A/N: Wingmen and questions and hurricanes, oh my! And more Shusco hi-jinks!

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 28: Mercury

 _Saturday 15_ _th_ _October 2016, 8.44pm, Rebel-Eats Food Market, Flatbush Ave, Brooklyn_

It was that time of the week for Shaw and Fusco to hit the town again with her playing Robin to his Batman. This time, she'd scoped out a pricey 8-'til-late food market on Flatbush Avenue in the formerly-abandoned garage turned concrete pop-up spot for food trucks and stands, with picnic tables and plastic crates for seats. Shaw brought Bear, not for company or protection, but because she'd factored him into her plans.

"You brought a dog to a food thing?" Fusco asked, wondering why.

"It's a different crowd and you want someone who loves dogs. So here."

He took the studded leather leash from her hand. "So there's kielbasa to your far left, injera and curry to the right and there's sushi somewhere in the middle but you don't want that. You want a girl who eats." She strained her neck zeroing in on the first 'lucky' lady. "Go to the beer stand and ask that pretentious blonde in the suede boots out."

"But she's not my type." On spotting the beret and the long voluminuous blonde waves, Fusco kew she wasn't it. He liked more down-to-Earth women with curly hair who liked Jack Nicholson and Robin Williams movies and ate pizza out the box.

Shaw rolled her eyes. "I _know_. But when she curves you – 'cause she _will_ curve you – the brunette in the sweater dress will think you're a nice guy."

"I _am_ a nice guy." He insisted.

She jabbed him for the fun of it. "You're a _wise guy_ , big difference. And 'cause of Bear, she'll know you're not trying to take her home tonight."

"You're _good_ at this. How?"

She didn't appreciate the tone of surprise in his voice. "I'm good at most things. Picking up chicks is a forte."

"What're you gonna do tonight?"

She checked out the time on her phone. "I've got a date with a banjo player after his next set."

"A _date_?" He repeated; Shaw didn't date, unless 'date' meant knock her next conquest over the head and drag him back to her man cave. "He must be a unicorn."

She shook her head. "Nope. No wand, just fingers. He plays this song in the key of-"

He cut her off but the image was already in his mind. "I get it. _Thanks_."

 _9.13pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

Since Joss reached the age where working out was a necessity if she was going to keep eating John's buttery servings of medium rare steak and fried eggs and still fit into any of her clothes, sometimes she managed to catch a trainer at the gym and talk them into the 'single-mom of college kid' discount for an hour of pain. There was no surprise that John wasn't home to help her out of her gym clothes, as it hurt to lift her arms over her head after the rope slams, because she gave off the impression she would never be satisfied with his choice. She didn't want to think about herself too much so she called her cousin instead. It was noisy on CeCe's end, because she was still on campus walking to a bus stop on the main road after Reggie's team won. "…Don't act like you don't know 'cause I know you already know. Aunt Rosie told everybody."

"Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry, C."

"Nothing I can do now. At least Reggie played how he's supposed to. 34-31 against the Seahawks."

Joss congratulated her. "That's really good."

"Yeah." CeCe knew her cousin was down but the tone of her voice. "What did John do now?"

"Nothing bad, it's just this new apartment thing."

CeCe was surprised, she had the impression the only Joss was leaving her nest was in a pine box. "So you're looking?"

"Yeah, saw the first place today. It didn't feel like home. But we'll find something."

"I get you. Josie, you know got a good deal with John, right?"

"I know."

"Really? 'Cause it sounds to me like you're dragging your feet."

Joss didn't like advice, didn't take advice but was good at dishing it out like most people. "C, I know what I'm doing."

"Okay. Thought I knew what I was doing too."

The weight of CeCe's words didn't go amiss, at least she didn't get time. "That's different."

"How?"

Joss had tried to be a diplomat for over two decades because she knew how it felt to have people badmouth her man. But there was only so much tongue-biting one could do. "'Cause Reggie's never been serious. He never saw your worth and neither did you."

CeCe drew in a sharp breath, because even though this heartbreak had lasted over 20 years it was still fresh. The first cut was indeed the deepest. "So you're gonna let the ghost of you and Paul's marriage roam free, huh?"

The one thing they had in common besides being the only daughters of almost-smothering mothers was and sharing the last three letters of their names, they were never good at taking their own advice. "I'm taking my time. It's okay to do that, you know."

"Was that shade?"

"Maybe." They both smiled. Joss changed subject. "How's the class going?"

"Josie, they've got me in there with coke-snorting bankers and soccer moms on crystal meth and every week there's someone who killed someone drunk-driving. This week it was a teenager who hit one of his classmates after prom. Poor kid had epilepsy and died seizing 'cause they didn't know what to do. I don't belong there. And the stories…matter of fact, it's _driving_ me to drink. Pun intended."

Joss laughed, because if she was able to make fun of it then she was on the mend. "And how's the car pool working out?"

"It's okay. I told Reggie what happened when he came home 'cause he wanted to borrow the car. Aunt Tullie's got it 'cause I can't walk past it every day without thinking of that MF."

"How did he react?"

"To which part? The half- and kind-of-step siblings, which he doesn't mind so much 'cause he expected that. Or his dad living closer than ever with another woman? Let's just say; he either needs a beep-button or a mouthful of soap."

"And you? How does he feel about what happened to you?"

She sighed. "He didn't say; he hit the weights for a couple hours though. But the way he looks at me, it's like he doesn't respect me like he should."

"I could ask John to talk to him, or Mr Greg; it sounds different coming from a man."

"Anything to make him feel better.

"And what would make you feel better?"

"A peach Schnapps and lemonade on ice – which I can't have 'til I get my license back, a neck massage, and a stiff wood to put me to sleep 'til next year."

Joss couldn't help with two of her requests. "So a trip to the spa, then?"

 _10.23pm, Rebel-Eats Food Market, Flatbush Ave, Brooklyn_

Shaw knew 10.30pm was the cut-off point for the kind of women Fusco had a chance with and the place would soon be flooded with college students with money to blow on artisanal burgers on ciabatta and Belgian beer. After Fusco's rejection, he didn't get to speak to the brunette for long before other women started to interject in their conversation. Shaw called that the _K-Ci effect_ – no-one wanted him either until he was Mary's man. With 1 and a half beers and a beef taco in her stomach, she checked in before leaving. "So, did you score?"

"We exchanged numbers and I'll see her next week for lunch. And her name's _Vonnie_."

She patted him on the back and made a mental note to give her a nickname later. "Good idea to check her out in daylight. I heard there's a _100% Woman_ Weekend Conference coming up at the Meridian. All those "I complete myself but really want a man" types."

He figured Shaw was the brother he never had; his real brother Frankie was a pencil pusher who lived in Elizabeth, New Jersey with his high-school sweetheart who ran a customised cupcake business from home and their three kids. Frankie wouldn't know the first thing about getting him back in the dating game and for that, she deserved his respect. "You got skills, Shaw. _Superior_ skills."

"Bear wants steak." She gave him a mock salute and left him with the dog.

 _Sunday 16_ _th_ _October, 9:43am, Joss' apartment, New York_

When the _Drop Dead Fred_ credits ran the night before, Joss gave up waiting up for John and went to sleep. So it was rather timely that he reappeared when she was out of the shower, already running late. "Stay home with me." He requested, as she avoided contact with the hypnotic blue eyes that gave her problems and made her act out of character. Her clothes were already laid out on the bed waiting for her to fill them out and be Evelyn's good daughter. But John had no intention of spending the morning alone.

"Don't do it, John." She warned, fishing through her jewellery box for a simple pair of earrings with her head down. If she didn't look at him he wouldn't be able to change her plans.

"Come to St Cereal and Oats. We have _eggs_ …and _lots_ of sinning." He teased.

She tugged at the sweater because it was working. "They warned me about men like you, John."

"Men like me? I'm just an upstanding citizen."

She spotted him in the corner of her eye with no shirt on. "On what planet? Saturn?"

"Mercury…no storms."

"You _are_ the storm, John. Can't imagine what it would take to contain you…"

And with that dare, Hurricane John swept her clothes out of its way like a torrent, showed no mercy, powered through the room disconnecting phone lines, drummed through her walls and rippled through her sheets until she crumbled and crashed like a dilapidated building, and left a memorable, thankful silence in its wake. "Eggs?"

 _11.56pm, Cocoa Café, Emory University_

After he came out of his mathematic bubble, Taylor remembered how it felt to be stood up and have nowhere to go on a Friday night when the whole world seemed to be out so he caught up with Zahra to iron it out because his conscience was pricking him. "I got you a croissant. I'm sorry about Friday."

Her faint smile said she only came because she wanted to see him again, whether he apologised or not. "Okay." She sipped her apple juice. "So did you crack that thing? Whatever it was."

"Yeah, kinda. What's up?"

"I told Jamil about you."

He didn't know what to make it. "Your brother?"

"Yeah, so he knows. My parents think I 'shouldn't' be dating."

"Because of Islam?"

"Yeah and 'cause they're old-fashioned." She explained. "They know Jam does but they ignore it 'cause he's a guy and their rules only apply to me – which is why I went out-of-state."

"So what does your brother think?"

"That you better be a good guy or he'll knock your teeth out."

Taylor swallowed. "So you're close?"

"Yeah, it's just the two of us. But it made me think; are we actually dating or just hanging out?"

The clanging bell from the old clock on campus signalled the new hour and alerted Taylor to the severity of her question; the wrong answer would either make her leave or cry or leave crying. And he hated to see girls cry. "I like you, but it's soon, but I really like you…" She nodded because she didn't know where he was going. "And…I'm not seeing other girls so…"

"So?" She prodded, because when she was stood up her friends had a conference about it where they encouraged her to DTR – Define The Relationship. "I wanna keep seeing you, just you."

In the moment, Zahra thought she was happy with his answer but afterwards it dawned on her they had had one of those conversations that didn't have a clear ending. Her friends had advised her to make sure she was the only girl in his life on just on campus, which she had, but she didn't know if she was his girlfriend or not and thought it sounded too clingy to ask. The truth was, usually she wouldn't let it get that far because guys just didn't understand. Or so she thought.


	29. Megalomania

A/N: Megalomaniac is one of my favourite words ever, maybe it's the silent 'o' but I love how it sounds #wordnerd

Definition: Megalomania: obsession with the exercise of power OR delusion about one's own power or importance.

Still taking M words and trying to work marzipan and marsupial in somehow.

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 29: Megalomania

 _Monday 17th October, 9.14am, 8th Precinct_

Although it was first thing in the morning and her coffee hadn't cooled down yet, Joss felt like she was being frogmarched into the principal's office when Laz the Police Aide informed her Captain Noguerra wanted to see her straight after his phone call. Even though Fusco was happy from another successful weekend 'getting back out there' and knew it would bring him down some, he volunteered to go in with her because he knew a set-up when he saw one. If he couldn't wash the stench of HR off then Joss would never lose the stink of being a 'rat'. Never.

Captain Noguerra cut straight to the chase, addressing Joss as though she was alone. "I heard you had an altercation with some Narcotics Detectives this weekend."

Joss tried to stay calm. "It wasn't an altercation, Captain. We were notified of a suspected homicide and at the scene, we were stopped from seeing Salome Veracruz's body. And we haven't heard anything since, not even if her family was informed."

"I suppose you agree?" He asked Fusco, going over Joss' head as though they were in a 1970s office and she was the coffee-making secretary.

"I do, Cap'n. Narcotics stonewalled us, we have an investigation to run too; that's our job."

Noguerra smiled like a superior does whenever they hand down a decree to their subordinates. "You'll be happy to know you've been relieved of this particular case. The 75th Precinct is handling the homicide investigation and Narcotics is taking care of the rest. In case I'm being unclear, you're no longer needed. Step down." He shot Joss a chilling look, daring her to take him on. But she said nothing. "And in case you're wondering, the DEA is already involved so you can rest easy, Detective Carter."

"Excuse me, sir?" Joss asked, despite Fusco's nudge not to take the bait.

"You've been known to engage government agencies. That's not necessary in this instance." He replied casually, confirming her suspicions that he was trying to get rid of her.

It took a swift walk outside, a brand new coffee, half a yum-yum and a few almost-swear words for Joss to calm down. "Don't wear it, Carter. He wants a reason to suspend you, or worse. Hang in there." Fusco advised, knowing he would never find another trustworthy partner who knew where the bodies were buried.

 _12.22pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Brock was short on words when he left that morning to go out canvassing with Hugh. Taylor didn't mind having time alone, after all he was an only child, but there was a weird vibe in the room since Hugh first stepped in it and his gut told him there was more to that relationship than the brotherhood his roommate talked about. Because he couldn't predict what John would do if he said anything, and he was well aware of how his mom would overreact; he'd asked his dad to look into the phrase they kept repeating. "Did you tell Ma?" Taylor asked, as soon as he saw Dad on the screen.

"Not yet."

" _Please_ , don't tell her. She'll freak out." Paul rubbed his chin on the other end of the line. He know keeping things from Joss never ended well but he figured Taylor wasn't a little kid anymore and it was his decision. "I'm not in it, I swear. It's Brock who goes to the meetings and the church. And something weird happened last week. He was like… _confessing_ …but to some guy called Hugh. I don't even think he goes here. What'd you find?"

"It's a cult, Tay. The Righteous Upstanding Ministry for Men (R.U.M.M.) is known for…" He read from his printouts. "…its presence on campuses. It describes itself as a youth movement that promotes leadership, moral values and fellowship amongst young men. Uhh…ex-members described social isolation, academic underperformance, psychological stress and abuse of power within the group, and post-traumatic stress and shunning after leaving. There's a case pending of sexual abuse and two suicides have been linked to it already at a college in Florida." He coughed. "You wanna switch rooms?"

Taylor decided quickly. "No. I like Turner; it's quiet and I don't think Brock's a bad person he's just…"

"In a cult. Tay, it's up to you. But _please_ , keep your distance."

"I'm not in it."

"I mean; don't let Hugh rile you up or bait you into an argument, that's how they work; by pushing your buttons. And we know you love debating 'cause you get it from me."

Somehow Taylor was able to smile despite the severity of what he heard. "I'll try. How's Gina?"

"Good, we're going to Philly this weekend for a dance competition."

The only dances he'd seen his dad do were the two-step and dances with his frat brothers that belonged in a time capsule, so he couldn't imagine him watching an al0girl dance troupe compete for hours. _"We_?"

"What? It's no different from a football or basketball team."

Taylor got the feeling he lost that argument and was going so he wouldn't lock horns with his girlfriend again. "Okay."

"How's Zahra?"

"Pretty good. She asked me if I'm with another girl or something."

"And?"

"I'm not, and that's what I told her."

" _Oh_."

"Oh?" Paul laughed. "What's funny?"

"'Cause you just made her your girlfriend."

"No, I didn't. I never said she's my girlfriend."

"Yes. You did. It's _implied._ " _Craaaaaaap_. "Tay, they never ask just to ask. They ask to know where they stand. I guess you never had that talk with Bella 'cause you were inseparable anyway."

He was right. Bella was his girlfriend because they spent as much time together as possible, it was never said; it just was. And at the time, he liked it that way. "I like Zahra, I just-"

"Wasn't trying to get into another relationship. But here you are; doing relationship things."

"But we're not having s-"

"I know. Which means you _do_ listen. Sometimes. Kinda makes it worse."

"How?"

"Because…you've been doing what you're supposed to do at the start of a relationship; getting to know each other. If you were just hooking up, she wouldn't have the same expectations."

"Expectations?"

"Yeah – and trust me, women have _truckloads_ of them. So, if you don't wanna be with her, you should tell her now; before she listens to Beyonce. Women do that too - a lot."

Taylor didn't get a chance to respond because there was a knock at the door. She came bearing snacks and an irrepressible smile. "Guess who just won two tickets to see _Chance the Rapper_ on _Fri-day_?" She asked in her ecstatic, sing-song voice.

"Uhh, Dad? I'll call you back."

 _1.49pm, The LaFont Building, Two Bridges, New York_

John, Finch and Shaw were part of the seated crowd a motivational speaking event hosted by the Trapezium Group called "Being your Best Self"; not because Finch was interested in this particular school of self-improvements, and definitely not for Shaw who believed she was the best and the baddest ever, but because the keynote speaker was their newest number. For once, John wasn't ducking and avoiding cameras because all camera phones were firmly pointed at Lester Harvest, 47, from Austin, Texas, who was born Emilio Perez in Toluca, Mexico. "And so, in closing; if you cannot be the poet; be the poem."

The crowd of 400 erupted in raucous applause at $59.95 a head. Finch was quite miffed that Lester didn't reference its source – actor David Carradine – and that instead of a table selling books, young men and women in high-vis jackets were walking around with contactless readers to take eBook and podcast orders. If his favourite detective was sitting next to him she would've called it a _hustle_ and he would've agreed with a diatribe. Finch didn't have a long time to think because two burly security guards advanced towards his seat. John clutched his Baretta, but there was no need; they were clearing the way for Lester to speak to the richest man in the room - Harold Dunlin, owner of Dunlin Corporate Estates in a newly-gentrified part of Bedford-Stuyvesant. "Mr Dunlin, what a pleasure to have you in attendance."

They shook hands. "Thank you." Finch saw the camera rising. "Mr Harvest, I believe in discretion."

With a hand gesture the photographer turned in the opposite direction. "Of course. And thank you for your donation."

"I'm a…distant observer of your work. I'd like to discuss it further in a more private environment."

Lester nodded emphatically, because he saw dollar signs in the near future. "My assistant, Emily, will be in touch."

Finch gave him the metal business card with the details embossed. "Splendid. I look forward to hearing from you.

 _2.06pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Brock wasn't expecting to find Zahra in their room, playing a loud angry cupcake game on Taylor's tablet. He didn't greet her, because that was socialising. "Where's Taylor?"

"Filling in at the library, someone left early to pick up their kid from pre-school." She looked at him, she didn't have to be pre-Med to know the pink blotches on his face were from anxiety. A guy she had never seen before followed him inside, wearing a similar semi-formal outfit.

"She's the girlfriend." Brock told Hugh, who looked her up and down a few times; focusing on her headwrap.

"I remember."

Even though Taylor hadn't called her his girlfriend, it still felt good to hear it. " _She_ has a name and it's _Zahra_." She asserted herself and went back to her game which was the only noise in the room until Taylor returned a few minutes later.

"What's up?" Taylor asked, as Brock looked sick.

Brock cleared his throat. "I…can't be friends with you anymore. We have different beliefs…on what's right and what's wrong." Hugh nodded with approval.

Taylor was a quarter-inch away from saying they weren't really friends; just roommates who shared a burrito that time but he realised this was what his dad warned him about. "Fine. Zahra, you want Thai?"

She didn't understand what he was doing or why but she knew Hugh reminded her of a big-time athlete d-bag she'd come across in high school; showing off on the Quad and generally being an asshole at other people's expense. Asking her what spices she kept under her 'turban' and when she was going back to Saudi Arabia. He really wasn't worth it. But she was on level 17 already. "Sure. Can I bring this with?"

"Sure." Brock didn't know what to make of their leaving, other than Hugh was pleased with him and that must be a good thing.

 _3.37pm, 8th Precinct_

Joss was halfway through the teeth-grinding read of a cold case file that landed on her desk; the whole 5-day investigation smacked with incompetence as the original owner didn't investigate what the murdered runaway had run away from in the first place. Fusco couldn't help his partner because Noguerra had hauled him into a 2-day First Aid course. The instrumental of the Theme from Shaft started playing and she knew John was calling. "You rang?"

He knew she was frustrated. "I have a proposition."

She looked around and thought at least three co-workers were watching her. Maybe it was paranoia. "Involving?"

"You…me…oysters…wine…"

"And?" She prodded, thinking she could really do with a toe-curling workout with John somewhere.

"A couple apartments."

She was intrigued. "How?"

" _Bird_ man shortlisted some places for us with 360-degree virtual view."

"Okay. I'll let you know when I get off from work. And you?"

"I'm always on the clock."

She blushed. "That you are." She spotted Noguerra coming in the corner of her eye and regained her composure. "Uhh, gotta go. Bye."

"Carter, any thoughts?" Noguerra asked, oddly posing his question to an audience.

"The bruising on the neck and confirmation of strangulation in the autopsy suggested an imbalanced power relationship. Add that to the fractured cheekbone and my first thoughts are; we have a victim of sex-trafficking and the perp was a client."

"The victim was a 14-year-old boy." Noguerra fired back to discredit her argument.

"Yes, and a runaway from the foster system. Too young to age out, too old for adoption, too many to keep track. It's possible he had a verbal altercation with the last person to see him alive, it turned violent – if I can even say that – and he was murdered. In that case we're looking for a paedophile with a history of violence against boys, starting with the sex offenders' list."

"Let me know what you find."

She nodded and went back to work but he didn't move. "Sir?"

He suddenly became aware of how it looked and left her alone, but that feeling didn't go away with him. Suddenly the voice of her father played in her head, " _target on my back…target on my back_ …" but she couldn't remember where she remembered it from or what he meant. Maybe she was making it up, maybe she was too young at the time to remember, maybe they were out on a hunting trip and he was talking about a deer or a rabbit. Maybe. Either way, she resolved to ask her mother soon and made a quick expensive order of the computers for the church so she'd have something to trade with for information about the past.


	30. Motivation

A/N: It's been one of those weeks with all kinds of conspiracies to keep me from editing and post this chapter but alas, we are here.

Fictional studded boots for everyone for hanging in there with my non-beta'd self.

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 30: Motivation

 _Friday 21st_ _October, 3.43pm, Dunlin Corporate Estates, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn_

Because of his slippery nature and the snake oil he was selling, Shaw dubbed Lester Harvest; _Grease Lightning_. His scheduled business meeting with Harold Dunlin was overtaken by a storm in laced-up boots and a tall, quiet man in janitorial overalls. Technically, he should've known the mundane office wasn't befitting for a man who made a five-figure donation to the cause. "…No-one. I'm a Life Coach _slash_ Motivational speaker." Lester replied, when asked who would want to kill him.

"Yeah, yeah, we know; each handshake is a hand-job waiting to happen." Shaw dismissed him with her unique spin on one of his speeches. "Who wants you dead?"

Sweat seeped through his polycotton shirt. He'd been accused before, one unhappy customer even tried to run him over but no-one had ever taken it that far. "I don't know."

With all the office supplies that made great makeshift weapons – the glue-gun, the motorised stapler and the fire extinguisher – Shaw had to settle for a notepad and pen because she was under strict instruction not to alarm the H-list celebrity. "Make a list. Starting with all your failures. The _professional_ ones."

"I don't see them as failures." Lester replied as though he was being interviewed by Oprah.

Shaw took that as an invitation to hover the special stapler over his hand. "Indulge me."

He sighed. "Carl Minchin, he came to my TIM Talk. He was a recovering gambler and he wanted to feel empowered enough to kick his habit."

"So you took him on as a client?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Taking his money before the slot machines could." John commented. "Try again."

"Come again?"

"It's weak." Shaw clarified. "We're not buying it. More."

Lester went deeper. "Andre Walters was one of my clients. He complained about an ankle sprain."

"And?" John prodded, wondering why Joss had gone off the grid.

"I advised him there was an emotional source of his pain. But It got worse and by the time he got medical attention there was permanent damage. He lost his job."

"And then he got disability. Deeper." Shaw insisted.

Lester wiped the sweat from his brow. A name he often forgot went to the forefront of his mind. "Doris Clay. She left half of her inheritance to the Trapezium Group earlier this year to advance our work."

"Bingo." Shaw said.

 _8.16pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn._

Joss didn't know what was worse, spending days interviewing sex offenders and needing to take multiple showers to deal with it or watching Noguerra watching her in Fusco's absence. She was convinced even clumsy, green Officer Mendoza was in on it; offering her nutty chocolate bar – which she declined because her tree nut allergy was more even sensitive when she was stressed and she couldn't take the risk on some idiot at a factory slipping in a cashew or two. Her mom had a new doormat with the word "Hello" on it and took her time getting to the front door, so long her arms were going numb from the inkjet printer she'd kicked in as a bargaining chip.

Evelyn was in her "my man ain't home" outfit; non-matching sweats with a polka dot sweater and fleece teddy-bear print pants, bright green separators between her freshly painted toes, her damp hair up drying in a t-shirt turban and the chalky blue face mask she'd missed still on her chin. You looked down at the spanking brand new printer and knew on sight it was a shakedown. "What'd you wanna know, Jocelyn?" She shuffled through her domain, because her toenails weren't dry. "You've got that look on your face."

A TV show about a woman with what looked like 100 tattoos was on pause. Joss kicked off her shoes and folded her legs underneath a blanket on the second sofa. "Did Dad have a target on his back?"

Evelyn sprayed her toes with Fast-dry spray. "He was born in Jim Crow South Carolina in 1950. Be more specific, honey."

"You know, in the service." It seemed like such a stupid question to ask but they kept so much from her. Joss remembered her parents as discussing everything in the bedroom and always being on one accord.

"Of course he was. It got worse as he rose through the ranks. But he didn't want you to know how hard it was for him." Evelyn explained. "It was subtle…until it wasn't. It wasn't even his contemporaries – it was his platoon; dealing with people who didn't think he was fit to lead them but expecting him to keep them safe in combat at the same time. Why?"

"I just feel like I have a target on my back."

Evelyn smiled because she reminded her so much of her beloved Josiah. "Of course you do; you're a crusader. Jocelyn, you know you ruffled a lot of feathers back then, and people have _long_ memories."

She felt the damage every time she stepped into the bullpen and things went quiet. "I know."

"So I'll tell you what I told your father back then. _So what if you're a target? You're so fast and pretty they'll never take you out._ "

It should've made her smile but instead it made her think. "Is that what he thought? That they might take him out."

Evelyn swatted that memory away like a persistent fly. "You know how men are. So dramatic. He thought every good thing in his life was linked to that uniform. So, when things weren't going right; he thought he'd lose it all. I see now he was under a lot of pressure. We were young, he'd never done anything else and he was afraid that if he left the Army for 'no good reason' he'd never get another job, another house, another family."

"Family?" Joss repeated. "I never knew that."

"Of course you didn't. And he snapped out of it so we never talked about it again."

"I feel like I'm still being punished."

"Because you are. You know now is a great time to consider something else, Jocelyn." She baited her because she knew Joe's daughter would only have one response.

She shook her head. "I can't give in just because they'd rather have their secret blue Boys' club than 'troublemakers' like me. Mmm-mmm. Can't do it."

"Swap blue for white and troublemakers for a word I'd rather not say and you sound just like your daddy. Just be smart. And watch your back." Evelyn advised as her top coat seemed to finally be dry.

"I will."

"Good, now tell me _all_ about that printer. No wait, Reverend Harris said he's been waiting for you and my very-generous son-in-law to come by for marriage counselling." Evelyn thought she might as well get some juice while she was right there. "About what exactly?"

Joss thought on her feet and drew inspiration from the box. "58% faster than last year's model; would you believe it? Those lucky, lucky kids…"

 _8.11pm, Baci di Dama Ristorante, Little Italy, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn_

For some reason, Fusco thought he might as well change his strategy when it came to dinner reservations seeing as Shaw was taking care of the rest. Even though he was still tee-total, because he had no restraint when it came to the bottle and knew it, he googled which wine to pair off _pappardelle con funghi di bosco_ with; and the trusty tool came up with Bianco di Custoza, a white Venetian wine that Vonnie liked even better with her second bowl. Fusco admired her appetite and the way she spoke about her ninth-grade students with equal parts concern and contempt, which made it easier to talk about his son who was returning more of his calls but was terrible at keeping the conversation going and playing video games at the same time. "…You should expect it. It's the time we live in. Oh God, I sound like my mother." She groaned.

He smiled. The company he kept didn't have normal stories to tell about Vaseline on the doorknob pranks; they asked him for an assist or his badge, or used his body as a shield, or co-opted him as an unwilling accomplice to rescue a big cat. And sometimes they busted in on his date and for the most infuriating c-block of recent history. "What'd you want?" Fusco asked with a frown, shoving John – or Detective Stills – behind the shrubbery.

"Information." Fusco couldn't believe the jackass in a suit's eyes were actually sparkling. "And you gotta come up with something better to talk about than _Ma's legendary spaghetti and meatballs_."

"About what? The Hope Diamond? I think it's a fake and the real one's at Oprah's house."

John missed their banter. "I wanna know why Joss hit the boxing gym every night this week."

Fusco knew to give up some information so he could disappear and he could get back to his date. "She's having a hard time with Cap'n busting her balls with some gross cold case no-one else wanted. Satisfied."

"Very." John patted him on her back, and Fusco was blissfully unaware he'd just lit a match to a hungry pot of kerosene and fish grease.

 _11.47pm, Douglass Hall, Emory University_

For someone who'd lucked out with tickets to a sold-out concert, Zahra didn't seem to be all that happy. She didn't want to hang around and try to meet _Chance the Rapper_ afterwards. In fact, from the look on her face, Taylor couldn't get her out of there for air any faster. He talked, and while she responded her mind was a million miles away. It only dawned on him it was an early night, when he saw more people coming out of the main door than going in. They could've said bye, or at least something, instead they stood there; just looking weird and awkward and out of place. She didn't want him to go or stay; she wished he could stay there as he was so she could remember him like that before she opened her big mouth and ruined everything. Taylor gave up trying to read her mind – the best he ever did at that was the D+ he got with Bella that looked an awful lot like an L. So he kissed her for the first time because it seemed like the most natural thing to do. Or all he could thing of. Or both. Or whatever. Zahra remembered how good it felt to be kissed by someone she really liked who liked her back and it brought back memories of how good it could be, how good it was, before it all got ruined. _This is how it starts; first they like you, then they love you, then they find out the truth and suddenly they can't love you anymore. Not the same way. Or look at you the same. Not in the same way._

He felt her tense up as though shard of ice coursed through her veins, starting at the lips and throughout her body, which was a shame because she was a much better kisser than he thought she would be. He didn't know what he did wrong and why her eyes were filled with fear. "Too much?" She shook her head. "Then, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Nothing, because in that moment she realised she was in love with him. And that complicated everything. "Why did you ask me out? 'Cause I called you a nice guy?"

 _Well…yeah._ "And because you had my back." They hadn't spoken about the roofie incident and no-one else knew because he still couldn't wrap his head around it and that didn't happen to guys. "Why?"

"You're still here."

"Pretty much."

"You're a good guy." _Here we go,_ he thought. _Just when we were getting somewhere._ "But I'm...I'm not like other girls."

He tried to lighten the tone because it seemed like a good idea. "Like MJ in Thriller?"

She kind-of laughed. "Not like that. I can't explain..."

"I wasn't trying to hook up with you, so it's cool." She smiled but there was a sadness to it that was familiar to him; a sadness he didn't recognise in himself. He didn't know it was because she _wanted_ him to want to hook up with her. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

He'd been through the "nothing" cycle enough times with Bella to know it was _something_. And it wasn't like Zahra to bite her tongue. Like John said, m _aybe it's her story._ "You don't have to tell me now."

"Okay." Deep down she wanted him to stay but was somewhat relieved he was going.

 _So there is a story._ "Want me to walk you up?"

"It's okay." And to his surprise she kissed him back, which confused him greatly.


	31. MentalMind

_A/N: First of all it's been a bleurgh week so I'm glad to write and finally come through with Zahra's story as promised._

 _Trigger warning: includes discussion of gender-based violence. If you're uncomfortable, please skip this chapter._

 _Also, thanks to_ **Bklyngrl** for joining us at the Carter and to all of you who read and comment and PM me with fun things and observations and general encouragement esp. **SWWoman** _and_ **Jill88** _._

 _This is turning into a Body Count length affair I think, but anyway we'll see, I'm not slowing down anytime soon._

 _As always, enjoy x_

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Chapter 31: Mental/Mind

 _Saturday 22_ _nd_ _October, 6.45am, Joss' apartment_

Joss could always tell when her husband was up to something. He was happier than usual and full of big ideas and fun times – all distractions to throw her off the scent like she wasn't a Detective by trade. But she _was_ a woman. And any woman would respond to John's kisses the way she did, because John _Nom du jour_ had an overpowering tongue flicker in his repertoire there was no defence for. So while Joss massaged her neck against the pillow and let John melt the tension of the horrid work week away, Finch woke up across town with an unexpected visitor in Bear's domain.

 _6.47am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

His entire life, Finch had been an early riser because his mind raced at such an alarming speed it fed off the external stimuli his waking hours provided. For this reason, his senses were more sensitive than the average person. Over the scent of his oven-baked croissants was the smell of another dog, a strikingly-beautiful dog that belonged on the TV screen; in fact, it had been on TV when Finch was a boy but it was called _Lassie_. Scout, the custom-collared Rough Collie that had cozied up to Bear, belonged to a Police Captain from the Lower East Side with a large chip on his shoulder. Shaw was half-asleep in the armchair Bear usually humped on, having played her part in the conspiracy. The black electronic padded device poking out of the pocket indicted that she had deactivated and disabled the microchip beneath the well-kept and well-groomed dog's skin. "Didn't you say it's rude to stare?" Shaw muttered, barely opening her eyes.

He sighed. "We don't have room for a second dog."

"You're the one who said Bear needs a playmate. Ta-dah." She said with the enthusiasm of a root canal patient.

"Do you understand the risk of introducing a second canine to my library? And who is Scout's owner? I don't see a new Number."

She thought he was being dramatic. "Your croissants'll burn so I'll keep it short. Scout only eats gourmet dog food so she's not interested in your 1st edition _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ , Carter's asshole Captain thinks his precious pet is in the Hudson right now and The Machine's still ticking."

"The Hudson. That's rather traumatic, don't you think?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Hopefully. And for the record, this is _all_ Reese."

"I'd hoped you wouldn't say that." He rushed off to save his breakfast.

 _10.01am, Joss' apartment_

The delivery of red wine and oysters came right on time. John had planned to finally look at the 3D footage of their potential new apartment and take her mind off the problem he was taking care of in his own special way. "What's got into you?" She asked, looking through the cabinets for tabasco sauce.

"Nothing." He replied casually, looking for the Shucker knife.

"Am I gonna hear about this on the news?" She asked.

He laughed, because whatever answer he gave would fan the fire of her completely-justified suspicion. "Fireplace or no fireplace?"

 _2.23pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Seeing as Hugh had Brock run ragged – up out early and in late – Taylor hadn't seen much of him all week. Not that he minded because no Brock meant no Hugh and he didn't know how long his rope of toleration was. Things were moving on without him, pictures of Bella's birthday popped up in his Facebook feed; with his ex-girlfriend as Xena the Warrior Princess amongst a Tin Man and a lazy person in a Chewbacca mask. And in his own life, his not-quite girlfriend seemed to oscillate between being an open book and Chinese puzzle and his girl-crazy cousin told him he and Aunt CeCe were heading to New York for Thanksgiving to avoid talking about the arrest or his _sperm donor's_ other kids over turkey with the rest of the family. Unbeknownst to him, Zahra had been up all night thinking of how to break things off with him; anything to stop him from getting closer. And sometime around 10.30am when her roommate offered her a pop tart for breakfast to cheer her up from the funk she was in, it became clear; surely she could run him off with the truth because that was better than letting him in just so he could reject her later. And he _would_ reject her, she was sure of it, as sure as she could be when she knocked on his dorm room knowing he would be there.

Taylor could sense her hesitation, even though she'd always been comfortable with him…until he kissed her. He knew how long weird vibes could go on for and didn't want to drag it out so he simply asked, "What did I do?"

She sat on his bed and noticed the stack of his nerdy calculus equations and drawings was growing. "Nothing. I wanted to talk to you but I don't want you to freak out."

"Why would I?" She looked away. "And so what if I freak out?"

It suddenly dawned on her; if he did then she had the perfect escape. And he would stop liking her and then she wouldn't have to deal with the fallout because he'd just disappear all on his own. So she called his bluff. "When I was 7, we went to a party and there were other girls there and cakes and chocolates and music. So ummm…" She started breathing deeper and more heavily. "I..."

"It's okay." He was sure he'd seen his mom breathe like that before, sometime after she was shot and just before she ducked into the bathroom, the kitchen or her bedroom so he couldn't see exactly what was wrong with her.

"It's not. I didn't know why we were there until after. A long time after."

"Why were you there?" He asked.

She looked at him, somehow that made it easier. "We were cut. Uhhh…" She took another deep breath because she was thinking more and more about it and usually didn't let her mind go there. " _I_ was cut. That's why I don't remember much about moving here, about that time."

He didn't understand what she meant. "Cut?"

"They call it _Sunna_. I don't have…what other girls have 'cause it's gone. So...that's why I never…'cause it freaks guys out."

Taylor still didn't really get it and didn't want to ask more because he didn't have the right words and he didn't understand. "Can I ask you something?" She held her breath and nodded. "How come you slept here?"

She sighed with relief and thought for a short while. "I wanted to you to be okay…and I wanted to know what it felt like."

He understood that much; part of why he liked having her around so much was because they shared an embarrassing secret she didn't judge him for. And speaking of judgement Brock walked in, fresh from an 8-hour workshop on building character, and interrupted their conversation with an announcement as though Zahra wasn't there. From the grey circles forming under his eyes, it looked like he hadn't slept in days. "I tried to switch rooms but there's a waiting list."

Considering the weight of their discussion Taylor dismissed this piece of news with "Whatever, Brock."

"And it's my room too, I don't get why she's here so much."

Taylor knew he wasn't supposed engage him but he couldn't help it. Especially when he had reason to defend her. And if he was going to change his new personality he should've picked someone better than Hugh as a blueprint because this 'spiritual quest' was turning him into a jerk. "Because _Zahra_ is my girlfriend and she's welcome here." She thought _girlfriend_ had a nice ring to it. " _Anytime_."

Brock looked from Taylor to Zahra and back again and it confirmed that was why God sent Hurricane Matthew to put everyone on notice to build their character on his principles; because He was more displeased by the flip-floppers (i.e. Taylor) than the infidels (i.e. _Them_ ).

* * *

A/N: I don't do usually footnotes but if you're affected/triggered, check out Daughters of Eve. - U.M


	32. Money

_A/N: In my mind Rev. Harris is played by a barefaced shaven T.I. Don't ask why lol._

 _This is for everyone who wishes it was a three-day weekend. All of us? Okay then._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 32: Money

 _Sunday 23_ _rd_ _October, 11.47am, St. Luke's Methodist Church, Brooklyn, New York_

On top of compliments, Evelyn loved recognition. Maybe it came from being the long-suffering second-born sister to the orderly, wannabe-Mama's-favourite Cammie, or hooking her first husband at the tender age of 16 with long pressed hair and burning desire to get out of Beaufort as fast as was humanly – and legally – possible. Either way, when Rev. Harris thanked Jocelyn and her (absent) husband John for their generous contribution to St. Luke's After-school homework club she sopped up the praise and reflected glory like a biscuit did gravy. But alas, in trend with the past few months her happiness was short-lived as her son-in-law showed up at the end of service to whisk her daughter away in a 4x4 she'd never seen before off to do something excited they'd never tell her about. "At least they're married. After you." Gregory commented, never one to twist the knife as he opened her car door, holding in laughter as she huffed.

 _12.27pm, Huber-Scholz Apartments, Midtown, Manhattan_

Although it wasn't on Finch's list, or owned by him, the two-bed, two-bath split-level 3rd floor apartment with a wall-mounted electric fireplace immediately stood out to Joss over oysters the previous afternoon. John got the last available viewing slot, less by chance, and more by paying the realtor's assistant $300 in cash to move another couple out of the way and promising a cool grand if they liked it to "accidentally" lose anyone else's contact details. It wasn't too far from Belasco Theatre where she tried to give a 4th grade Taylor some culture when all he wanted was the ice-cream and binoculars. It was more spacious than the first and the fitted kitchen was top of the range, but she missed the island counter. The two walk-in closets sat right with her; one for her clothes, shoes and purses, and another for John's weapons. Taylor would have a bigger room, not that he'd need it after graduation. And the master bedroom let in just enough sun.

"So, what'd you think?" John asked, thinking it was more 'homey' than the last one.

"It's more our speed."

"But…"

"Is it petty to want an island counter in the kitchen?"

He thought back to the many, many ways they put that counter to use more or less every time Taylor wasn't home and since he left. "No, it's not."

The realtor joined them in the master bedroom, eager to get the next couple in on time. "So? What are we thinking?"

"I think we're getting closer." John confirmed. "But we need an island counter."

The realtor nodded, making a mental note to look for another place them first thing on Monday morning because judging from the 4x4 outside, the man in the Italian suit and the sapphire on her ring finger their last name was spelt C-O-M-M-I-S-S-I-O-N.

 _1.38pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Scout devoured the last of the plate of _Cibus_ gourmet canine cuisine proving Shaw right – she was a classy dog with a posh palette. Although Bear seemed very fond of his new playmate, Finch thought it was just a temporary solution. "What do you suppose happens if Captain Noguerra puts a BOLO out for his dog?"

Shaw pulled some toys out of the dog chest. "You think he'd do that? And look like a complete idiot seeing as she's supposed to be in the river? If he does, we leak the story to local news that a civil servant is misusing public funds 'cause he forgot to lock the cage. End of story."

He sighed, because she was right and that was an alarming thought. He also wondered what John's end game was, other than causing psychological damage. Either way, Shaw left with two happy dogs on leashes and at least something was right with the world.

 _3.58pm, Bartholemew & Chantal Sloane Library, Emory University_

Taylor still didn't know much about Zahra's traumatic experience other that he was going to be her friend as well as her boyfriend. After she left to console a broken-hearted friend with _Two can play that game_ and Beyoncé's Lemonade album, he didn't know what to do with himself. He tried the gym because he was tense with confusing emotions and disturbed thoughts, he went to church on campus because he felt helpless, and he tried the intellectual approach which confused him further because he didn't know what he was looking for. His searches led to a self-harming site, counselling services and an NGO which outlined four different types of female genital mutilation that sent his breakfast back up. He had so many questions for her he couldn't dare to ask, and because Gregory would definitely tell Gram and John would inevitably tell Ma, he could only call his dad.

It was noisy in the background on the other end, as Paul was queuing at a fast food spot to grab a late lunch for Gina, her Klassic Dance Troupe and the KDT parents on the bus. "Tay, good to hear from you. You sound better."

"Yeah," Taylor replied, though he wasn't so sure. "You were right about the girlfriend thing. About her asking."

Paul wasn't used to being told he was right by anyone outside of the office. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"She sounds like a nice girl."

"She is. So, did they win?"

"They placed second, by two tenths of a point. Something about their kicks and splits. So Gina's on the bus tearing them a new one. Reminds me of Coach Run-Run."

Taylor remembered his college coach used to solve all the team's problems by making them _run-run_ , all the way to consecutive State Championships. "Where are you?

"Getting lunch for 25, I hope it takes an hour 'cause she was _pissed_." He notices his son's laugh didn't sound the same. "What's up, Tay? Is it Brock and R.U.M.M.?"

"No, he's just acting weird and d-baggish."

"Then what's going on? You broke?"

"It's not money."

"Can't be Calc, right? Smart apple, smarter tree." He noticed Taylor didn't laugh that time and he didn't know what to do because he wasn't saying anything. "You wanna come home for the weekend? _Before_ Thanksgiving."

It hadn't crossed his mind that it was an option. "Maybe?"

Even though Paul known for being a miser, he thought he could break his no-frills edict for once. "Tell me when, I'll send a ticket."

"What's the catch?" Taylor asked.

He sighed. "You're my son, it's just money."

 _Monday 23_ _rd_ _October, 11.09am, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

Because he was usually so well-presented, coiffed and camera-ready, Joss was surprised to see Captain Noguerra arrive late to work looking so stressed. Laz, the Police Aide, had been asking around the bullpen and the wider office about any news about bodies being pulled from the Hudson over the weekend which made the Organised Crime and Homicide detectives eager to break whatever case that was so important to him. Fusco went on without her when the body of an unidentified male washed up on the bank of Fort Washington Park as 'the case that no-one wanted' still beckoned. Her instinct was to look up homeless people who'd been arrested, weeks before and after. in the area where the trafficked foster kid no-one wanted lost his life. In her experience, homeless people didn't make the best witnesses in court but for the promise of a warm bed and hot meal at a nice shelter or B&B, they tended to make good C.I.s. She didn't get a chance to act on her idea before her ex-husband called, which was very unusual since all they had to talk about was Taylor. "Hi Paul."

"Hey. You good?"

"Great. You?"

"Yeah, something's up with Taylor. I don't know what but…"

 _5.54pm, Sweetest Sting Boxing Gym, Harlem, New York_

Frankie "Fleetfoot Mac" McElroy was a 15-year-old boxing and Taekwondo prodigy, reminding John of a more disciplined version of his younger self. He didn't understand how MMA worked, because he was too busy mixing martial arts in his own life, but watching the youngster take down his coach and reverse submission holds gave John a warm and fuzzy feeling. Frankie's number came up less than two hours prior and he was eager to find out what someone would want with this kid. His attempted to fade into the background and be discreet was blown when the realtor called with _good, no great_ , news about a 3-bed split-level apartment in East Harlem they just _had_ to see. Against Finch's voice in his head, John abandoned his mission for an hour or two just to see if it was worth their time.


	33. Mathematics

_A/N: Guys, work is really cutting into my writing time but I'm pushing through._

 _This is for **Opheliablack** who nailed it re: Evelyn and the 7-letter C word that means so much to her. Couldn't have said it better myself and your comment inspired the scene with Gregory below. _

_Still collecting M words - This one's called Mathematics because everyone's confused by what's happening in their lives and life is one complex and confounding equation. Oh and Hidden Figures._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 33: Mathematics

 _Wednesday 26_ _th_ _October, 9.27pm, Marcus Garvey Park, Harlem, New York_

When John was a pre-teen, his junior-high school counsellor once told him he could excel if he applied himself; that was precisely why he and Shaw were hiding out in the park where they'd followed Frankie and his uncle and legal guardian Charlie to. His guidance counsellor also advised him to stay busy so he could keep out of trouble and get some work done and it was in that spirit that John put Phase Two of his hands-off plan for Noguerra in the works before he clocked on for Finch. For a while there was nothing to see, as Frankie and Charlie ran three miles side-by-side in under 30 minutes, but unlike Tuesday night, this evening wouldn't end with a meal of brown rice, beef and spinach and an episode of _Family Guy_. After their stretch in the cold, a tall, weedy man with square glasses approached them. Shaw could barely get enough signal to clone phones and listen in, but she and John recognised the universal sign of money exchanging hands as Charlie took an envelope without glancing at it and Frankie tied his shoelaces.

 _10.03pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

As the saying went, 'A watched phone never rings.' Fusco knew this as well as his partner should have because she was waiting for a former working girl turned paid NYPD informant to return her numerous phone calls about the case that no-one wanted and it seemed, no-one wanted to help her with. He couldn't watch her beat the dead horse any longer and refused to leave until she did but they didn't make it to their cars without catching the scene out front; Captain Noguerra was yelling for the Police Aide who was already home, and at any passing officer as someone must have seen something. From the outside, his car was clean, waxed and detailed but on the inside, the stench of a urine-soaked floor mat in front of the driver's seat was enough to make him almost forget about his precious, missing Rough Collie.

 _10.17pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

For the first time in a while, Brock was back at a decent hour and they were alone in the same room saying nothing. Taylor had enough to deal with; though he still saw Zahra often he didn't know what he could or couldn't say to her and though he didn't think any less of her, there was no question his newfound knowledge made him view her differently. The question was how. And that was a question he didn't have the answer to. Brock was folding his clothes and didn't turn to face him when he asked a question out loud that didn't appear to be directed to anyone. "What?" Taylor asked, taking off his headphones.

Brock turned around, cleared his throat, and rationalised talking to his lukewarm-flip-flopping-fraternising roommate because it was for his education. "Ever been to Sleurben's office?"

"No." Taylor kept a healthy distance with Professor Sleurben, Co-Head of the Math department, because of her formidable reputation. "From what I've heard; if she ignores you, you're doing something right."

"What if she asks you to come to her office?"

When Taylor tried and failed at pledging his dad's fraternity because he didn't 'do' groups, a fellow cockroach called Ben went to her office and he hadn't seen or heard of him since. "Don't know."

Brock knew this conversation would go a lot better if they were friends but that wasn't allowed. But they could be friends, if only Taylor knew where he was going wrong. So he extended an olive branch. "There's a cross-campus event coming up with music."

"The Rock Vox thing?" Taylor asked, because it wasn't his scene,

Rock music wasn't allowed and Brock didn't know what a vox was. "It's called R.U.M.M.A.G.E. The Righteous Upstanding Ministry for Men's Annual Growth Experience. I can get you a free ticket."

"No." In that moment, Taylor had never been so thankful that his dad came through with the plane ticket just in time and a nice pair of headphones last Christmas with a stream of Kendrick Lamar flowing into his ears. "They call Sleurben's office the Snake Den."

"You're kidding."

Taylor shook his head. "She's been here for 20 years. 100% pass rate in Calc. That's how she keeps it; kicking people off the course before they flunk."

"She can't."

"She can."

"But…but I'm passing." Brock said unconvincingly because he hadn't logged onto the portal in weeks.

"You sure?"

He blinked and thought of the last 2 pop quizzes he missed and the classes. So many classes. "I'll pray about it." Taylor said nothing because they told him not to argue. "It'll be fine. I'll explain and she'll understand." Brock knew he shouldn't be talking to him, as Hugh said people like Taylor were there to fill his mind with doubt when he should have faith. But the temptation for a solution to his problem was greater. "What's she like in person?"

"No idea." Taylor was quite happy for the diminutive figure of mathematical force to ignore him 'til graduation.

In that moment, Brock realised he didn't know much about Taylor at all. "Are you on Scholarship?"

That question had a particular sting to it because it provided an invisible divide all throughout high school and the only person he could relate to at that time was somewhere at Princeton probably dressed as a throwback cartoon character writing competition-winning stories about how he blew it. "Partial. You?"

Brock swallowed. "Full."

That was the moment Taylor saw the line for once; Brock's problems weren't his problems and he'd be damned if he lay on that bed any longer and listened to someone who made a point of treating his girlfriend like crap because of whichever coloured 12" by 60" pashmina she used to cover her hair that day because of her own religious beliefs. Their room was getting smaller by the minute so he grabbed his gym bag because he knew it'd be empty. "Later."

 _Thursday 27_ _th_ _October, 2.12pm, The Respect Recreational Center, Crown Heights, Brooklyn_

Outside of church, Gregory freelanced around the city with different musical programmes for kids and young people of different ages. Although he would never say it, he found most adults far too inflexible to learn music because they didn't let themselves enjoy it. The method acting group had left a number of props behind in the room so Evelyn helped him straighten things out for his 1930s to 1960s class for teens from a local school; most of which thought those old love songs were too corny and soft to perform in public. Out of nowhere, Evelyn made an announcement to her audience of one. "I want to renovate."

He knew where it was coming from; with Taylor away most of the time and Joss' random early exits and absences she was losing her grip on them and wanted to redirect that energy into the condo. Saying no outright never worked, she had that much in common with her son-in-law, but Gregory was proficient at dissuading her. "Winter's coming. Imagine not having heat or hot water…or electricity."

Evelyn wasn't built to live without modern comforts, probably because since she moved out with her first husband at 16 she'd always had a TV and never had an unwanted roommate. "Maybe we should get a dog."

"A dog's for life, not just the season." He advised, quoting a dog rescue charity.

"What season? Christmas."

He pulled up a chair for her and a crate for himself and took the box of props off her hands. Evelyn had seen this before and she didn't like it when he sat her down to tell her things she didn't want to hear. "This season of change. You know, the one you've resisted." She didn't like how he knew her better than she wanted him to know her in this very moment and used that information against to prove a point. "I know it's hard, but Joss'll be alright. And hey, Taylor's here. So you can bake the coconut cake and find out more about his girlfriend." She nodded, she always get a fix from her grandson. "Just be sensitive."

"Why? I thought he was over Bella, finally. I even crossed it off my prayer list."

"Because Zahra is a Muslim."

She coughed. "Excuse me?"

"You know, people have interfaith relationships all over the world. With very little conflict." She coughed again to clear the persistent frog in her throat and he rubbed her back, coaching her through it. "From what I hear, she's a very nice young lady…and that's all we want for him."

"I need rosary beads."

"You're not Catholic."

"I am today." She gasped at a frightening thought. "What if he _converts_?" She asked with horror.

"Technically they don't convert, they _re_ vert. But anyway, I don't think that's on his mind."

"Well, you're just _full_ of answers today, huh Greg?"

He sighed because he expected her reaction. "I'm telling you so you'll be prepared."

She shook her head. "World's gone crazy. Left is right, up is down, East is West, I just can't today…" He was used to her melodrama. "I need something for my nerves. A sweet tea, please."

As a badge-carrying officer of the Sugar Police, that wasn't happening anytime soon. "One green juice coming up."

"I said-"

"With berries." He patted her on the back and made a swift exit to the café on the corner.

"I can't win for losing."

 _5.22pm, I-95, New York_

At his age, Taylor should've known there was no way he could get back in the state of New York without his mom knowing. But he was very relieved to see her waiting at the gate, because although she was terrible at mathematic equations she had an uncanny way of figuring things out and making them make sense to him. And Joss had time to talk, because she hadn't managed to pin down a contact yet for her case and Noguerra was literally up in arms in his office at the now-widely-known dognapping and the pissy carpet so he didn't see her leaving. Instead of driving uptown, Taylor found they were going down the I-95 towards Jersey City. "Uhh, Ma? Where are we going?" He could smell something comforting.

"For a _loooooooooooong_ drive. I've got a full tank and you've got something heavy on your chest." She kept her eyes on the road. "I always find out Tay."

"Is that..." He sniffed again. "Cantina Nueva York?"

She smiled. " _Sin duda, mijo._ So, what's going on?"

He didn't know where to start. "Uhhh…it's kinda…this is hard."

"Okay, how about you eat, I drive, and you tell me what you can. It's shredded beef. And Julio said _Que pasa_ , homes."

 _7.40pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

For the last seven years, Paul attended CBT counselling almost every Thursday night and someway or other the conversation always led to Taylor. Susan observed that when he was first referred to her in 2009 by the VA and she took him on as a client because he wrote in response to Why are you here?: "To see my son." For the most part he was a willing participant, although defensive, and sometimes she got the feeling he was trying to outsmart the counselling process by pre-empting what she would say next. But as she wrote in her notes multiple times, it was a deeply-engrained defence mechanism from someone who tried to keep a lot of order in his life to reduce anxiety. Case in point, he always had a romantic partner because he felt a man his age 'should' have a woman in his life so filling the void took priority over who to fill it with. "When did you last see Taylor?" She asked towards the end of the session.

"Before school started. He's here 'til Sunday though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He sounded…different on the phone. So he's with his mom, working it out."

She nodded and made a note. "It's a good sign that you asked for help."

"For Taylor." He added.

"And for you?"

He smiled that barely-there smile he used for his first and last wife. "Joss was always better at that kinda thing."

"What do you mean?" She probed,

"She likes to talk and get to the bottom of stuff, where all the muck is." He explained.

"I see. So what are your plans for the weekend? With Taylor I mean."

He rubbed his chin. "Maybe an MMA fight, or a boxing match, maybe the arcade. Pizza, Say it, Susan."

She smiled because he was doing it again. "Say what?"

"That thing you always say about distractions. I'm not _avoiding_ talking to my son; I'm just smart enough to know I'm not good at it." He said in the exact same tone he used to explain why he and Gina were never getting married.

"What if Taylor doesn't expect you to be good at it? Or smart enough? What if he just needs a listening ear?"

He knew there were five minutes on the clock. She always did this to him towards the end. And he always came back. "Can't we talk about Gina? Of course we can't talk about Gina 'cause that's _avoiding the issue_." Susan was used to him trying to out-counsellor-the-counsellor. "Look, the way I see it; if he thought I could help him he'd ask me."

"And when he doesn't?"

"That's what Joss is for."

She made another note and pulled a worksheet on communication from her clipboard. "I'd like you to complete this and bring it to our next session."

"Great. Homework." He grabbed his jacket and folded the worksheet in half. "Thanks."

"Thanks for coming. I'll see you next week." He gave her a mock salute and left.

 _7.59pm, Elizabeth, New Jersey._

Although she hated the sound, Joss didn't mind when Taylor slurped the last of the strawberry Mirinda soda because at least he was talking. While she was disturbed by his account of his girlfriend's revelation and taken aback by the idea he was growing up and having a "young adult" relationship instead of a "high-school teenage" one, she was relieved that he was handling things the best way he knew how. "…You do understand she was violated, right?" He nodded. "Does she?"

He exhaled. "I don't know. She says it makes her different, and it does, but…I don't know what she thinks about it. And I can't ask her 'cause…you know."

"I see. And what about you? How'd you feel now you know?"

"I don't know. I think it's weird and _wrong_ and I don't get how she's not as mad as she should be. They're her parents; and that's what they wanted. I don't get that either."

She put another spin on it, because she could. "Zahra truss you enough to say something and that's huge. There's nothing greater someone can give you than their truth. Because lying is easy. And so is hiding."

He got the feeling that one would sit with him for a while, and since he was being honest it didn't make much sense to let her find out later. "Promise not to freak out."

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, she didn't know exactly where they were other than it was getting very residential. "I promise."

"My roommate's in a cult and he's gonna flunk out of school."

When that bomb landed, she cleared her throat and tried not to crash the car. When she'd regained her composure, she managed to say, "A gang is a gang is a gang. Keep your distance."

"I am."

She wasn't convinced because he was her son and they were usually one foot in some mess; they couldn't help it. "And don't get into any _intellectual_ debates with him. It's not worth it. He'll see the light eventually."

He raised his eyebrows, because from what he saw Brock was staring at the sun. It just so happened that that particular sun shined out of Hugh's orifice. "You think so?"

"Tay, something's gotta give; either his money, his health or his GPA. And for the record; rescues almost-always backfire because it's the psychological gun to the head that counts not the physical one."

That confused him more that Kendrick's line about how _the one in front of the gun lives forever_. "What'd you mean?"

"If you try to pull him out, it'll feed into the 'us against the world' rhetoric and he'll run back even faster. I know it's hard, but you have to back off, _don't fight_ , and wait it out."

It made a lot more sense when she said it. "I'll try. Really."

"So, where'd you and Zahra go from here?"

"I don't know."

She made an observation. "You care about her."

"…I just don't get _why_." He groaned. The feeling he couldn't shake was frustration.

"Some things aren't meant for us to understand. Don't drive yourself crazy trying to."

"How'm I supposed to turn it off?"

"By knowing no answer will ever make it make sense. We find out the truth, just to know it. Not because we expect it to make us feel better."

"I think it's sick."

"Can't argue with you, Tay. I got this case that's making me take four showers a day. Just be kind. And take it slow." _Here we go._ He shifted in his seat because he knew what was coming. "I mean it. Despite her parents' decision and her culture and her regilion, Zahra has the right to discover sex on her own terms. Not theirs and not yours either."

"But I'm not even-"

"Tay, as much as it hurts me to say this to you; sex is normal. It's not something to be scared out of or pressured into or used to control people. Maybe Zahra's parents don't realise that but I think she does."

He was thrown for a loop. "How? How'd you know that?"

"Because I'm a woman." When she was satisfied he was mortified, she headed in the opposite direction. "Aren't you glad you ate first? We should talk more often."

"Can you…pull over? Now…"

"Was it the U turn?" She asked, looking for the nearest spot.

"Nope, just the talk." He shoved the car door open and emptied his stomach at the mouth of a cul-de-sac.


	34. Marzipan

_A/N: This has not been a great week to say the least but writing this gave me a chance to release._

 _"Relax, relate, release" - Debbie Allen_

 _Credit to **TheRegal1** for the M-word "Marzipan" - I hate it, it's disgusting and it describes how _ is/are feeling._

 _Still collecting M-words and getting them in where I can. Air kisses to **Killer Mike's Biggest Fan** aka **Diaz Dakota** who's officially back at the Carter._

 _And yes, I see no end in sight so let's see if we can top LFYL with 59 chapters... :D ;) :s_

 _As always, enjoy x_

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Chapter 34: Marzipan

 _Friday 28th October 2016, 2.35pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Taylor didn't know chipper John; he knew badass John who appeared from the shadows and had a bullet on a golden necklace. Chipper John, in his chipper mood, woke him up at 1.30 in the afternoon to show him something worth getting out of bed and showering for. Since the long car ride home, Taylor still hadn't regained his appetite because of his fragile emotional state consuming just enough mint tea to stop his headache. From the subtlety of the building, that blended in with other corporate buildings on the not so busy street, and the park nearby, Taylor was comforted by the proof that John was taking good care of his mom, even if she did have dark circles under her eyes from worrying about him.

Instead of giving a tour of the three-bedroom split level apartment with the spiral staircase that made it feel foreign and much bigger than it was, John opened the door to a bare large double room with white walls and a light grey carpet. "I thought you'd want this one, so she can't hear you coming in or out. There's another but I had plans for that." By plans he meant guns.

Taylor didn't know what to say. "Thanks."

On a further look, he spotted the kitchen island in the kitchen and a guitar on the living room wall about 8 feet from the electric fireplace she said she wanted every time the boiler acted up. "She'll love it. It's perfect." John wasn't used to receiving the stamp of approval, especially on a place he wasn't supposed to have the keys to. There was something hollow about the grasshopper even in his croaky voice. "So she told you?" Taylor asked, feeling guilty because he'd slept through Zahra's call.

John nodded. "Look, this is way out of my depth. But if you like her, then, hang in there. What are you hiding?"

"What are _you_ hiding? You're all happy and stuff."

John decided to give him something that might make him feel more comfortable. "Your mom's Captain gave her a hard time, so I stole his dog."

"His dog? His dog, John? What kinda Jedi mind trick is that? She's gonna kill you when she finds out."

"Add that to the list 'cause you're next in line. And she's not gonna find out 'cause _we_ aren't gonna tell her." John smirked but it wasn't returned.

Due to the exhaustion, the hunger and the heaviness of it all, Taylor decided to throw his burden on the fire. "I got roofied. That's how I met Zahra. And I didn't wanna tell anyone because it's…it's embarrassing."

John put his hands on his shoulders, if there was any sign that he'd been assaulted it would've been Defcon 1 at Emory University in 45 minutes. " _Embarrassing_ is mistaking Vicks for Vaseline. What happened to you was…" And there went Reggie's favourite 12-letter M word. It was nice to know he cared. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"You know this is your home too, right? You can come home whenever you want."

Taylor tried to nod but he knew what was about to happen and he couldn't stop it; even biology said so. His tear ducts filled up and his head swelled with so many things to cry for; he hadn't felt that helpless in a long time. Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help, it just made the tears run down the side of his face faster. He bit his top lip and tried to at least be quiet about it and control his breathing somewhat but he couldn't because the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. And John wass there, with his hand on his shoulders as he tried to be a man about it until he couldn't try anymore and he was weeping like a little boy – the one that lived inside every man though he was too young to know that particular fact of life. John wondered how he missed it; how the eyes and ears on campus missed it when all they saw was the math major with the girlfriend making solid Bs in calculus and linear algebra. Because if _they_ missed it then they _all_ missed it, and he had to do something to keep him from slipping away.

 _8.16pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

For the first time in years, Joss invited Paul in and offered him coffee, juice or water and a seat on the sofa like a guest. He'd come to pick up Taylor before and even come in to get his luggage for a trip away but hadn't been treated like a guest…ever. The only time he'd seen the green and blue kitchen was when he filled up a bottle of water for the car. Joss was always beautiful, not because he was attracted to her, but just because she was and always had been. He thought she looked tired, like she'd been working long hours which was almost always true. But he didn't know she was up half the night talking to John about their son and his troubles. For once, John was on time. Granted, he was waiting for Frankie's match on Saturday and Finch was keeping watch on Frankie and his uncle Charlie at practice with two dogs in the back seat, but he was there.

"Paul." John greeted.

"John." Paul sniffed.

"How's Gina?" Joss asked, because it was the thing to do. Secretly, she was relieved he was with someone his own age.

He noticed two things; Joss' knee was touching John's and the blue rock on her ring finger was unmissable. "Good, she's at practice. So, what's up?"

"We're worried about Taylor." It sounded different coming from John's mouth that it did from Joss', seeing as this man had moved in on his territory – his relationship with his son. For that reason, Paul wanted to ball up his fist and sock him square in the nose as he'd done with a playground bully out for his lunch but his ex-wife was a cop and she didn't play that. "He's going through a lot right now."

"He's 19; he'll figure it out. That's why he came home in the first place." Paul replied, breathing through his nose.

They shared a look that Paul wasn't privy to, communicating a message about him he sensed wasn't good and, putting him on the defensive. _See what I meant?_ The wrinkle in her brow said. John wasn't going to let him dismiss her that night. Not after what he'd heard and had to tell her. "Figure it out like you did?" John made a strike, not to wound but to get his attention and make him take their concerns seriously.

Paul rubbed that spot at the back of his neck where he felt the most tension, a technique that was supposed help him manage his anger; something that was increasingly challenging in John's presence since they never talked beyond greeting for a reason. Several, actually. "Nice, Joss. Real nice."

She didn't know what she'd done wrong; his issues weren't a secret especially since she had to tell John to talk him out of confronting her ex of leaving the heavy lifting to her too much for his liking. "I-"

John rubbed her knee to prevent her from defending herself, because he was tired of the 'poked bear' act and seeing her give in just because she didn't want Paul to react. There was something about watching this game play out in real time on their home turf that made him want to throw Paul off the fire escape. "It's no secret; it's why we're here. And speaking of secrets, good going with not telling us about the cult."

"He's not in it..." He missed off _jackass_ , because he still had restraint.

"That's not the point. He has to watch someone suffer every day, knowing he can't help them. What'd you think that does to him?" Joss was impressed, because he had been listening to her even when she thought he was just holding her for comfort. "And there's more…"

 _8.29pm, Rope-a-Dope Boxing Gym, Manhattan, New York._

Though Lee preferred hockey to boxing, Fusco still brushed up on his skills from time to time so he could teach his son self-defence for the subway and the park. His skills of deduction needed no refining as he knew Shaw was in his car before he got to it. "What's the latest from the A team?" He asked, putting on his seatbelt. For once he couldn't smell fast food to negate his exercise with.

Shaw uncrumpled a flyer and flicked the overhead light on. "Cupcake decorating tomorrow at noon. North Bronx."

"Uhhh, I hit it off with Vonnie. Second date on Sunday, remember? The whole point of this…whatever it is."

She ignored him. "First 10 in get a free bag of frosting."

"Why'd you care?"

"I like frosting."

They locked eyes long enough for her to transport an image into his mind he didn't want there. "Ugh, don't tell me. Just don't tell me."

She smiled with sadistic glee. "You can't put all your eggs in one basket. Not with your luck. Get it? _Eggs_."

He sighed and hesitantly agreed. "Alright, I'll go."

"Good."

"You happen to know anything about the missing Rough Collie?" He asked.

"What's that?"

"You know, a _Lassie_ dog.

She continued to ride the ignorance train. "What's _Lassie_?"

"A TV show. _Lassie_ 's got a star on Hollywood Boulevard."

"Were there guns in it?" She asked.

"Don't remember."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Neither do I."

"Whatever it is, keep it from Carter."

"Aye-aye Popeye." She opened a beer-coloured soda.

He knew she was in on it, but he didn't want to know for sure that he knew because he couldn't deny it later. "No point asking you about the carpet, huh?"

She thought for a moment. "Since you're asking I prefer _Shellac_ , but then again winter's coming so I can't discriminate."

He closed his eyes only to confirm that that mental image had registered. He sighed because he couldn't beat her at this game. "What's on tonight?"

" _Mayweather v Pacquiao_ at Casa Carter, my audio feed is delayed but we have playback. And I waited for you, hacking the Bluetooth and all."

He wished he was above listening in on someone else's domestic conversations but he wasn't and the edited versions Carter gave him weren't juicy enough; he'd never spoken to Paul in person but he thought the idea of them facing off was better than watching TV. "Fire it up, _Princess Peach_."

She grinned and cracked open a tray of yum yums. "Anytime, _Luigi_."

 _8.41pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

"So now we all know what we're dealing with, what are we gonna do?" John asked, even though it didn't work like that.

Joss appreciated his support because she wasn't used to being supported that way, not with her son, and not from a man who cared so deeply about him. But she'd seen that look on Paul's face before. He sat with one hand over another, rested against his mouth with his elbows on his knees; in his eyes there was nothing to be found because he had disappeared. Paul didn't show his fear or anxiety because he'd mastered his poker face; the appearance of being in deep thought was an illusion because he'd withdrawn. Joss knew before he opened his mouth that he was already halfway out the door.

Paul shook his head. "I can't do this." Between the cult and the bullying, the FGM and the encounter with a date rape drug, his head was spinning. His brain was on overload and he still had inviting visions of punching John in the face. _Small apple, big tree_. He balled up his car keys in his hand and stood up. "Joss, tell me what you need and I'll pay for it. Susan probably knows someone."

Paul didn't acknowledge John on his way out, not even with his monosyllabic name or a grunt. He simply left and that made the hairs on Joss' arms stand up because she didn't know how she'd explain it to their son if he walked out of his life again. And that made her cry in John's lap.


	35. Miscreant

_A/N: Credit to **Opheliablack** and **Impvme** for the M word - Miscreant._

 _As always, enjoy x_

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Chapter 35: Miscreant

 _Saturday 29_ _th_ _October 2016, 9.39am, Joss' apartment, New York_

Lauryn Hill called it the X-factor; that empty feeling of disappointment and loss when a woman realised the love that hurt would never stop hurting her and the man she loved would never love her as she needed or as he promised. Though Joss had closed her heart to this man over a decade ago, Joss was entangled in a different kind of heartbreak – a vicarious one – that of her son. She woke up with a hangover-style headache where she thought she might be sick if she didn't close her eyes and breathe. John was already gone, he had left while she was still sleeping, and though he was her rock even his hands couldn't massage the feeling away. Like clockwork Evelyn called to ask about her grandson and when she would see him.

"Sunday."

She knew that tone too well. "What's wrong, baby?"

"You were right back then. I should've stayed a virgin."

Being told she was right didn't hold the same victory when her daughter sounded down. "Is Paul up to his usual tricks?"

Joss uttered words she hadn't said in years. "He walked out on us last night."

"On Taylor?"

"No, on John and me."

Evelyn wanted to rush over there but she knew she couldn't fix the unfixable. "I'm sorry."

Joss could feel the tears coming and was mad at herself for letting him hurt her again. "And Tay, he's not himself. I don't want to add this to it."

"That's the problem." Evelyn said, off-the-cuff.

"Ma?"

She made a painful admission. "I hate to say it. But Paul would be a better father without you always giving him a get out of jail free card."

"How?"

"Because he'd have to face his son, and explain why he left when things got hard last night. Instead of leaving the tough conversations and the grunt work to you."

Joss sniffed. Her work phone rang. "Ma, I gotta go. I've been waiting on a break in this case for weeks."

"In this headspace?"

"I'll get it together. It's important." Joss wiped her damp eyes. "And Tay's been hauled up in his room all night, I'm gonna check in on him."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

 _10.51am, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens, New York_

Gina thought of herself as a perceptive woman, more tactful than she used to be but no less assertive. When her on-off-on man of almost two years came home 2 hours later than she did the night before, she knew something went wrong at Joss' place. It was written all over his face, dejection and something she couldn't make out – shame. Her dance troupe were in for relentless conditioning as she still wasn't over their second-place trophy but she couldn't leave for the studio without saying something. "Who's Jeremy? He called twice and said he wants to see you."

The name alone was enough to put Paul off his breakfast. Not that he liked oatmeal anyway. "Block the number." He said, barely looking up from his book of Sudoku puzzles.

 _Who does he think he's talking to?_ "You gonna tell me who he is?"

He breathed deeply. "My dad. Can you block it? _Please_."

Besides Lucy, Paul's cousin, and her husband who still lived in Virginia, she hadn't met any other members of his family. It was odd, but then so was Paul, and he didn't talk about his parents so all she knew was his mom passed away years ago and it was messy. "Okay, but he wants to see you."

"I don't know how he got my number… _Lucy_." He made a note to talk to her about that – again – because he didn't want his father in his orbit let alone his home.

Her conscience tugged at her. "What if it's something serious? He could be sick or something."

"I don't want him here. Not near me, not near you, and not near Taylor either. Just trust me."

"Okay. I'll block him."

He was finally able to look at her. "Thanks."

She sat at the table even though she knew there'd be traffic. "You gonna tell me what happened last night?"

He gave her the condensed version. "I could've gone to jail."

"You and John fighting over Taylor, again?"

He shook his head. "Jackass."

"How's he doing?" He shook his head again with his eyes closed. "Okay, when's he coming over here?" Her question was met with silence. "Paul. Look at me." That was the last thing he wanted; for another woman to read into him and tell him things he already knew and didn't want to hear. He didn't want to but did eventually. "I don't ask for much; just that you treat me right, support my team and keep your word."

"I do."

"You said, nothing and no-one would ever come in between you and your son again. That's a promise. So why are you?" She asked, before she fished her car keys out of her oversized purse. "I have to get these girls together, can't have them embarrassing me." She kissed his cheek. "Do the right thing, black man."

 _1.52pm, Tom's Diner, New York_

For a former sex worker, Jolisa McRae looked more like a 40-year-old soccer mom than a 29-year-old biracial woman who had seen things she wouldn't forget for multiple lifetimes when she was sex trafficked for a decade by a man she thought was her boyfriend. In the last 2 and a half years since she faced solicitation charges and a lengthy sentence that would've put her daughter Ruby in foster care, she had been an informant for the NYPD and had a knack for finding homeless people. Joss tried not to crinkle her nose from the stench of a man whose skin and clothed hadn't touched water or soap in months. Impetigo formed blisters around his mouth and Joss couldn't bring herself to shake his hand. "This is Elmer. I had to tell him about the hostel to get him here."

Joss noticed he was rolling a cat's eye marble in his left hand. "Hello Elmer. I'm Detective Carter, NYPD. Before we talk I want you to know that your meal's on me, and I managed to get you into a hostel on Bell Street 'til Tuesday. If you don't want to talk, the offer still stands. What I'm saying is-"

"She's not bribing you for information." Jolisa filled in.

Elmer nodded in agreement because he trusted her. "I'd like the special with mackerel instead of bacon. And two coffees with three sugars no cream. "

"You watching your figure?" Jolisa asked, to warm him up.

"You know I'm a pescetarian."

Joss sat back and observed their banter, thinking Elmer might trust her more on a full stomach, and her mind drifted to her son who didn't want to come out of his room.

 _7.11pm, Sweetest Sting Boxing Gym, Harlem, New York_

Because he was privy to the disagreement at Carter's place and understood Paul's position of having someone else muscle in on his son, Fusco resolved not to bring it up with John and just to focus on the match between Frankie and his opponent. From a cop's perspective, the money that exchanged hands didn't prove anything conclusively not even match-fixing. In John's eyes Frankie was more like him than he ever imagined. After putting down a holding deposit on the place that was fit for his wife, watching Frankie's agility, speed and focus was the second highlight of his week. The kid has talent, that was certain, and his uncle spurred him on from the side of the ring. He almost lost sight of the fact Frankie was a number. Almost. The bell had barely rung for the third match when Fleetfoot Mac turned into a Tasmanian devil and jabbed his opponent in the back of the head leading to an immediate disqualification. It wasn't a question the poor kid would fall to his feet, but after 10, 20 then 30 seconds he showed no signs of getting up. Or movement.

 _8.03pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

Joss finished typing up her additions to her report, with Elmer's useful observations that gave her a lead on a known sex offender whose record she had 'acquired' with the help of a bird-named friend. As she made headway on a case that was worse than being benched, she couldn't help but notice Noguerra was zeroing in on her again. Though he was convinced some local teenagers had taken his dog as a prank and would return it promptly after he made idle threats at the next homeowner's association meeting, he couldn't help but think the carpet incident was personal. As nothing had happened since, he was guarded and invited her to talk in his office.

"How are things, Detective Carter?"

"Fine, Captain." She still didn't trust him, after all, he had more pictures of himself in his office that his own family.

He scratched his chin. "What are your aspirations here?"

"Aspirations?" She repeated.

"To climb the ranks, head up a department…" He prompted.

"Honestly, my greatest aspiration to see my son walk across the stage in his cap and gown." _With peace of mind, better company and a father who can handle the pressure._

He understood because he was a parent too. "And for yourself?"

She didn't trust 'casual' conversations because in the workplace there was no such thing. Not for her. "Excuse me, but I haven't prepared for my annual review."

He noticed she wasn't sitting, even though he was. "You could have a bright future here, Carter. If you invested as much time cultivating relationships as you do on your caseload."

"I'll bear that in mind." The only thing on her mind in that moment was if Janelle could squeeze in a deep condition and blow dry before the beauty shop closed.

"I'm on your side, you know."

Joss believed him as much as she believed John wasn't causing mayhem in that very moment. "Of course. Captain."


	36. Mess

A/N: A short one for the heavy hearts, the flabbergasted and the hopeful. Through Stevie Wonder and fics we'll get through it.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 36: Mess

 _Saturday 29_ _th_ _October 2016, 8.25pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

It wasn't Joss' M.O. to ignore her partner's calls but after shovelling Capt. Noguerra's crap and getting some crucial information for her case, she didn't want to take on anything else that night. Not when she left her son in his solitude that morning and hadn't heard anything from Paul. To her surprise (and relief), Joss was relieved that her son was out of his room on his own volition, and sensed that a smart, pretty girl had something to do with it. He was watching an obscene British teen comedy laced with swear words she didn't know were swear words and colourful profanity she recognised in any accent. "I made pasta and meatballs." Taylor said, after he put it on pause.

"You cooked?" She asked, smelling something that smelt pretty decent.

"It's my house too." He said, stating the obvious.

"Yes it is." She sat on the arm of the sofa and rested her feet on a cushion, facing him. Taylor looked more like her son which meant coming home was good for him. "How's Zahra? I mean, you talked?"

"Yeah we did. She's good." She knew that look anywhere; the poorly-kept secret of a young, new, flourishing love and she knew first-hand what that could do and never underestimated his power. After all, it got them here. "I've been thinking…I wanna be a friend to her like she's been to me."

"That's a good place to start."

"But not just friends."

She expected that because the Friend Zone was the worst place to be – relationship purgatory. "I'm happy for you. Sounds like a great girl."

He barely smiled because someone else was on his mind. "I saw Dad's truck outside last night."

No amount of small talk could smooth the edges off the conversation she had been dreading. "I asked him to come over so we could all talk about you."

"Dad and John in the same room again?" He laughed because he knew it couldn't have started or ended well.

"…Well, our talk didn't go the way I planned and it's my fault."

"Why is it your fault?"

Hearing it from his mouth made her question herself. "I don't know, that's how it's always been."

He didn't understand why she felt the way she did because he never thought it was on her. "Why?"

"That's how I've felt for a long time." Joss surprised herself with her answer. As soon as she said it she wished she could take the words back because she made a point of not exposing her weakness to her son. But it was too late, the scales had fallen from his eyes some time ago.

"Why can't Dad act like a dad?"

She exhaled. "I don't know where to start answering that."

Taylor got a glimpse of why she felt so guilty because his dad hadn't reached out to him since he arrived and he and John barely tolerated each other. "It's not your fault, Ma." Joss didn't have the answer he wanted or needed because she couldn't give it to him. That frustrating game had to end sometime but it looked like it wasn't going to end any time soon. "Hungry?"

"Yeah."

"We're out of parmesan."

"I can live."

 _9.49pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

The very first time John saw Capt. Noguerra, the man who was making his wife's work life miserable, in the flesh, was the same evening Fusco arrested Frankie McElroy for assault for the deliberate and illegal rabbit punch to his opponent's head. Noguerra was wary around his car, because of the unusual things that had been happening lately, and John thought it would be a great time to see the man face-to-face. Why? Because John Something Lastname got an adrenaline rush out of poking the bear and running. With a stolen pair of Finch's glasses, a purple Washington Huskies jacket and dark jeans on, he looked common enough to ask the man whose dog he stole with a tender cut of meat a few questions. "Are you the new Captain? The one from TV?" John asked.

Noguerra beamed, if he loved a photo op then live-action camera time was a sundae with cherries on top. "Captain Preston Noguerra."

"Jake Rice." They shook hands. John blew smoke up his orifice because it was amusing to do so. "You do great work here at the Precinct. Around the neighbourhood I mean."

"We're here to serve."

"It's working; I feel safer already. Anyway, look at the time. It's _Lassie_ reruns and a TV dinner for me. Thanks for your time." They shook hands again and John disappeared around a corner at the end of the street, at a safe distance by the time Noguerra got the hint. _Lassie_.

Fusco wasn't used to working with someone standing over him but Noguerra was so hot under the collar he couldn't get rid of him. "Jake Rice, about 6'2", wears glasses, white male, late forties, 2-mile radius."

"What'd he do?" Fusco asked, while running a search.

"Just find him." Noguerra insisted, thinking about his three kids who couldn't stop talking – or crying – about their dog Scout.

"No Jake Rice. There's a Jack Rice, Jack Weiss, Jack Rye and Jake Price. Want me to try 5 miles?"

Noguerra's nostrils flared, which ironically was the purpose of Phase Three. "No. Goodnight Detective."

"Cap'n." Fusco watched him leave for the second time, exasperated, but this time he understood what John got out of it and that made him smile.

 _Sunday 30_ _th_ _October 2016, 9.31am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Seeing as John helped him wade through his own murky emotional mess, Taylor didn't mind getting up early to surprise his mom with their new home; if she liked it of course. They followed her on her canvas of the property, as she opened every door, looked out every window, ran her fingers across the granite kitchen island, looked in every closet and storage space, switched on and off every light and finally, ran the tap in the rounded corner whirlpool bath that was made for bubbles and aqua sutra. The Dream Team held their breath for her final assessment. What Taylor didn't bargain for was her speechless kiss to his cheek, cupping his face like he was six…or the noisy, enthusiastic wet one she laid on her husband; smearing magenta all around his mouth. The verdict was in; she loved it and they were home.


	37. Missed

_A/N: Hi guys, this busyness will calm down soonish and I'll be back to posting more often but for now, here we are._

 _I know you've had a tough week, some much tougher and more "orange2 than others, so let's escape into a better(ish) world of doughnuts, baseball caps and jackasses._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 37: Missed

 _Sunday 30_ _th_ _October 2016, 4.57pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Autumn had been good to Williamsburg, the unfallen and unswept burnt-orange leaves made the street when Evelyn Magnolia Willie-Mae Taylor-Clement lived (and held court as the VP of the homeowners' association) a warm and inviting place to all. All except her ex-son-in-law who had been stewing all weekend. Even a heated game of spades with his frat brothers or Gina's dancers' legs and the new Maxwell CD couldn't bring him out of the funk. His conspicuous blue 4x4 was spotted by Gregory hours before while his wife busied herself with pointed questions to confirm her grandson wasn't converting to a new religion anytime soon. She wouldn't admit that she thought his girlfriend was gorgeous and a reunion with Bella didn't seem on the horizon anytime soon which was a shame.

"You know this is ridiculous, right?" Gina told him, having brought some toasted sandwiches back from the café on the corner. "Just go up there."

He turned down the radio, seeing as it was too early in the year for Tish Hyman to not want go home for Christmas, and changed the subject. "How was church?"

"Good, they missed you and Pastor Greene said something about a Men's retreat."

Paul drew in a sharp breath when he saw what he'd been waiting for and who. Jackass John was laughing and joking with his son while a fancy car waited at the curb. The duffel bag he bought his son for a trip to Virginia was casually thrown in the backseat. A sharp jab of Gina's elbow hit him in his rib, urging him not to be so prideful. But he wasn't. How could he be when another man pulled a flat purple baseball cap out of his blazer pocket ( _what the hell is up with those suits anyway?_ ) and put it on his son's head for Joss' group selfie? _Jackass._ The troubled son he spoke to last week was pulled into an embrace by Gregory who was surely telling him something uplifting as he patted the youngster on the back. Joss was beaming with a smile he hadn't seen in years; the smile she gave him when he apologised for asking for one of their 'breaks' with a teddy bear and a begging-Keith Sweat song on repeat until her sorority sisters convinced her he was sorry enough. He wondered what made her so happy, what she was saying to her mom who was hassling John about something he didn't know what her invite to their new house. Then Evelyn said something that made everyone shake their heads and Taylor gave John a sympathetic look. Paul's stomach turned because that wasn't his family; now then and certainly not now. His legs were weak, too weak to stand on and too weak to drive as Taylor headed off in the expensive town car, back to LaGuardia and back to college. Taylor needed help, time and conversation and all Paul had to offer was money. And so, he missed his chance.

Whatever was going on in his head, Gina didn't understand it. And now more than ever, she needed to know why. "What did Jeremy do to you that's got you so shook?"

Paul couldn't believe she was asking him that. "What?"

"You can _what_ me 'til the end of time, but Taylor won't forget this and you need to fix it. Asap. Like today. Before he gets on that plane." She added for emphasis. The trouble was, she didn't know when times were tough; Paul had the worse sense of timing.

 _Monday 31_ _st_ _October 2016, 10.08am, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

The colourful donuts all over the Precinct weren't Halloween-themed but they were a gift from the same donor: Jake Rice. Officer Mendoza filled Joss in because he was afraid of her; some tall white guy called Jake Rice stole the Captain's dog and greeted him outside the Precinct the night before when he was wearing a purple baseball cap with a wolf on it they should be out on the lookout for. She didn't care because her partner had called at the crack of dawn to inform her of the 15-year-old who spent the weekend in holding and was headed to juvenile court for assault because although his boxing opponent came back to consciousness over the weekend, the concussion was enough to make his parents press charges against the boxing gym and the New York Independent Young Boxing Association because an illegal move was used against their child. Fusco left out the key piece of information about Frankie's uncle Charlie receiving money in a park after dark because she was so happy about her new house he didn't want to kill her vibe.

With two registered sex offenders with similar abuse offences involving underage boys on their wrap sheets and Elmer's description of a potential suspect in the murder of Jonas "Joey" Newsome, Joss had her hands too full to ask if her son took the offending baseball cap with him to Atlanta and if her man was up to his grown-up misadventures. The former Family Support Coordinator, Dave Prewitt, was moved to an administrative position when clients reported him for "looking at my 12-year-old son funny", "creeping me out", "giving me weird vibes", and "staying too long and asking too many questions". In her research, Joss hadn't found Joey's parents as he was left at a hospital at 3 days old and had a failed adoption at age 7 because he was "too much to handle". His former foster parents were exonerated by DCFS because of their exemplary record so besides calling in the sex offenders for the Rikers' interrogation special, she thought where there was smoke, there must be fire and Dave needed to be brought in asap.

Unbeknownst to her, Capt. Noguerra wasn't going to let go of the dog issue and this prankster Jake Rice anytime soon; especially when John overachieved by launching Phase Four and Five on the same day with an unsigned and unmarked padded envelope with Scout's custom-made pink leather collar with her studded name on it. "Dammit!" He yelled, sending Laz the Police Aide in the opposite direction.

 _2.20pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Someone decorated the halls with spider webs, paper pumpkins, card bats and posters for a vampire-themed Halloween rave off campus and Taylor didn't think too much of it because without costumes the real vampire was in his room, trying to extract blood from his victim. But that day, Brock wasn't so willing because Prof. Sleurben succumbed to his pathetic begging not to kick him out of her Calculus class on a one-strike proviso that he couldn't miss another lecture of hers. Hugh wasn't used to hearing the word 'no' and wouldn't accept it so Brock chose his words carefully. Taylor walked in halfway through their strained negotiation. "Are you saying you're more important than R.U.M.M.?" Brock asked, changing his tone somewhat when he saw Taylor. "I mean, there are so many benefits to the work we're trying to achieve."

"I know that, but I can't miss another class or I'll never be a scientist. It's a pre-req."

Hugh's eyes narrowed and Taylor wished he could cold-cock him. "Then you have to decide what you value most. We value you, Brock. Who was there for you when you didn't have any friends, and didn't know your way around town, when you lost your wallet, when you had sick thoughts about your sister's best friend?"

Taylor wanted to tell him to lay off, because like his mom he couldn't tolerate bullies, then he remembered her advice about the " _Us vs. Them_ rhetoric" and how cults worked. So he put on his headphones, powered up his laptop and waited for Hugh to get red enough in the face and too tired to shame him to leave.

"I can't afford to go to school here." Brock's bottom lip quivered.

Hugh looked him up and down. "Then I guess you've made your choice." He looked over at Taylor who was bobbing his head along with Anderson Paak and deleting Bella's messages about the competition since she wasn't shortlisted and wasn't taking it well. "Remember what Jesus said about our friends."

"Hugh, I…" Brock didn't stop him from leaving, but as soon as he did, he wanted Hugh to come back so they could work something out. It was easy for Taylor with his rich city parents and his A-rab girlfriend and his good grades and his stack of calculus notes. Or so he thought. If he asked, and promised not to be a jerk to his girlfriend, Taylor would have offered to help him. But he never asked.

 _3.55pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

Fusco used Interrogation room 6 because it was the least used and was the furthest out of earshot. Not that his partner would have reported him to the higher-ups for slamming Charlie McElroy's face onto the table and bringing it up with a bloody nose; a throwback to his days in HR. "Tell me again you don't know what the money was for. Tell me you don't fix matches."

Charlie tried to realign his nose, which was moot because it wasn't broken. If Fusco wanted to it would've been through his fist. "I don't. It wasn't a fix." He raised his head to stop the blood from running.

"Start talking." Fusco insisted.

"Malcolm. Malcolm Pratt. He said the Kid's been messing with his son for a couple years now. At school, 'round the neighbourhood. So he wanted Billy to get a taste of his own medicine."

"And you told Frankie that?"

"No. I told him to win at any cost. Worst that can happen is he gets disqualified. I know it was wrong. I never thought he'd end up in the hospital. Frankie used to get bullied – before boxing and Taekwondo, Judo, Karate, Capoeira…"

"I get it."

"Sooooooooo…Frankie's getting out."

Fusco couldn't believe this guy. "Frankie's going to Juvie if the Judge says so. And as for you, I want deets of everyone who's ever paid you for Frankie's services or I'm booking you for Child Endangerment." He slid a notebook and pen across the table. "Starting now."

 _8.11pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

Joss wasn't the lingerie type and considering John wasn't gentle enough with silk or lace and had a habit of tearing through buttons, she was confident John would like her in his favourite team's t-shirt and heels to celebrate their new place but she never got a chance to find out because she got a phone call that killed her buzz completely. "Hello?"

"Jocelyn." She didn't recognise the grainy, gruff voice on the other end of the line. "How you been?"

"Who is this?" She asked, hoping it wasn't Elias using vocal distortion and calling her for a special favour in exchange for some valuable information.

"Jeremy."


	38. Mask

_A/N: The first time we met Paul in 3x08 he showed up unannounced and uninvited. Hmmmmm..._

 _Oh, and does anyone think John should stop messing with Noguerra?_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 38: Mask

 _Monday 31_ _st_ _October 2016, 8.14pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

Joss hadn't spoken her ex-father-in-law's name in years because he wasn't welcome in her home or her life. She'd only been in his presence four equally-unpleasant times; when Paul brought her home to Norfolk (when she refused the cashew nuts she was allergic to and he falsely accused her of looking down on their house), on their wedding day (when he made her mother-in-law cry), at Taylor's Christening (where he was on his best behaviour because it was on a Sunday at church), and at Paul's pre-deployment party (when he told his son not to go overseas and get killed). "Jeremy? How'd you get this number? Leanne? Lucy?" She gave her number to Paul's cousins when he stayed in Virginia.

He sniffed. "You always were a smart one. It's been a long time."

"What do you want, Jeremy?"

"I wanna see my grandson. Unless you said I was dead or sum'n."

Her heart started palpitating. "Talk to your son."

"He's ducking my calls right now. That's a pretty girlfriend he's got though."

She shook her head. "Again, if you wanna see Taylor; talk to his dad. Don't call here again."

"You used to be respectful. Guess things change."

"And some things don't; I see you're still bullying women. Take it up with Paul; don't call me again." Even though she hung up before he could respond, her heart was still beating so fast she thought she could hear it.

 _9.07pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

John took the news as well as she expected him to. "I'm kicking his ass on sight."

"John, he's in his sixties."

"So?" For the first time ever, he used the house phone in the kitchen to make a call. "Paul." _Oh, crap_. "I don't know what's going on with your dad but I do know he upset my wife and I have a problem with that. A _big_ problem." Joss couldn't hear what was going on on the other end. All she knew what there was some rhythmic grunting coming from John that was both silly and primal and if he was going to go all alpha on her behalf, then maybe she could dust off those heels after all. "Maybe we should." Joss knew those flaring nostrils anywhere; the last thing she needed was to see them come to blows. "Make it stop or I'll make it stop." There were no pleasantries to end their call, just a dialtone and the word, " _Asshole_."

She buried her head in his chest and he rubbed her back for comfort, thinking of all the times she had to deal with him on her own. "I know it's bad timing…but we need to tell Taylor."

Her head popped up at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Wasn't Taylor just here because of secrets?"

She wasn't used to him being the sensible one. "Well, yeah."

"So maybe it's time to get ahead of this stuff. If he called you and Paul, Taylor's next."

She sighed. "I'm gonna tase Lucy _and_ Leanne if I ever see them again. But you're right."

"What'll you tell him?"

"That his troubled grandfather's back on the scene after a decade and he should ask his dad what's going on." He was looking at her funny. "What?"

"You didn't tell him he was dead, did you?"

Joss was taken aback. "Of course not. Why would you think that? Who would-? Paul."

He nodded. "You better check what he knows first." John could sense her hesitation. "Let's do it tonight."

"He just got back." Pulled out a bottle of bourbon and filled two short glasses. "I hate it when you're right."

"There are worse things. So what's the deal with Jeremy anyway?"

"The last time we spoke, before today, he called me a _prissy bitch who left his son for dead and held the kid hostage_." That glass of bourbon was downed uncharacteristically in one go. "What more d'you wanna know?"

He nodded patiently and restated something he said earlier. " _On_ sight. Are you ready?"

"I think so. And no adlibs." He couldn't believe she knew what he was thinking. "You've already had your fun with the donuts, the carpet and the collar. And for goodness sake, give the man his dog back; he's got kids." John looked from side-to-side like the mischievous boy who came out to play. "What?"

"That's kinda difficult. Bear's used to her and we always said he needs company."

His reflexes were faster than hers, swiping the bottle before she could pour another glass. Sometimes John was a good influence. "You guys. I know Shaw was all in it too. And how does Finch feel about having more collectibles destroyed?"

"Scout's not that kinda dog."

"She's not your dog either. I swear…"

He patted her arm. "I bet you feel better about telling Taylor now."

 _This guy…_ "Actually, I do."

 _Wednesday 2_ _nd_ _November, 10.45am, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

Rosa Jimenez brought her two-year-old to the Precinct because he was running a fever and she couldn't leave him with a sitter. There were three colourful pairs of studs in her ears and Joss thought she barely looked 21 even though she was 32. "Finally someone's doing something about that man." She said, bouncing her son on her lap while he tugged at the beaded jewellery around her neck. "I knew it the first time we met."

"What interaction did you and your family have with Dave Prewitt?" Joss asked, glad at least one of the parents who filed a complaint came in to talk to her. In her experience, the more contact a family had to DCFS, the more they feared the police and any authority that might take their children away.

"Just normal things, when we didn't have hot water or heat because of that slumlord. Stuff like that. He came to check, to make sure the kids were looked after. And they _are_."

Joss smiled. "I'm sure they are. So what made you put in a complaint?"

"One day, he stayed too long. I didn't mind because I was doing laundry and I like to talk so anyway, Junito came home from that after-school programme _Aim & Reach_, you know it?" Joss nodded, even though she didn't. "Anyways, he started acting different. Ignoring me, asking Junito questions. Too many questions. It just felt weird. So I called Theresa at the office and told her not to send him again."

"What did she say?"

"That she never sent him in the first place."

The cogs in Joss' mind were turning. She wanted to give Dave Prewitt the kind of treatment her husband would – over the Brooklyn Bridge and into the river. "Thank you Rosa, is there anything else you remember?"

"His car had a weird bumper sticker on it and he asked Junito if he'd ever been to ice hockey before. My kid likes Chess."

Joss searched New York hockey team logos on her phone and scrolled. "That one. _New York Islanders_."

 _Thursday 3_ _rd_ _November, 7.40pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

Paul had never been happier to see Susan in his life. With Gina in his ear about explaining what the issue was with Taylor before Jeremy reached out directly, Jackass John calling him and acting big and bad on the phone when he needed his ass whupped 3 years ago, and Joss sending Taylor in his direction instead of handling it like she usually did; he was struggling to handle it all. She could tell by the fidgeting; the way he wrung his hands like he was wiping them dry betrayed his anxiety. He offloaded for four minutes straight, which was a record, and didn't want water though his tongue was dry. "Did you complete the worksheet?" She asked, deliberately not addressing his issues because she had a method and wasn't going to let him direct the session.

"Did you hear what I just said?" He fired back, more forcefully than he should have. "Sorry." He breathed through his nose. "I'll take the water now, please."

Because of his distress, she gave him a bottle from her personal supply. "I believe it was called 'Reflections'."

"Yeah." He took the crumpled and folded sheet out of his pocket.

"What was the scenario?"

"Joss' place. She invited me to talk about Taylor, but he was there."

"Taylor was there?" She inquired.

"No, I guess he was upstairs. I meant John."

She nodded. "What did you take from their concerns about Taylor?"

"That they knew stuff I didn't, and I knew stuff they didn't. And it was my fault 'cause it's always my fault."

She tried to give him perspective. "Unless you're the leader of R.U.M.M. or someone who practices FGM, it's not all your fault. But back to the issue of information, it seems there was miscommunication on both sides. What do you think caused that?"

"Taylor doesn't tell me everything. Guess it felt good to know something they didn't." She made a note. "And he asked me not to say anything."

"How did that feel?"

He sipped more water. "Good. Better. 'Cause he's _my_ son. _Mine_."

"Let's consider John knows Taylor is your son, what role does he play in your relationship?"

"He's in the way." Paul said, off-the-cuff. "I don't need some white man telling me about my son."

The awkward silence that followed was its own punishment, because Susan was white – Czech-American to be precise – and he didn't seem to mind telling her anything. "I didn't mean it like that."

Ironically, she'd had held and earlier family session with a former Marine who reacted badly to his daughter's fiancé being a 4th-generation Mexican-American. "What did you mean?"

"I mean; I don't need John showing me up, acting like he's better than me when he's not. And he'll never be Taylor's dad, I don't care if they launch a rocket to the moon together."

She was heartened by his passion for his son and confused by his current avoidance of the person he was so territorial over. "How can you express what you need from Joss and John?"

 _By knocking his block off_. "I don't know."

"And Taylor?"

"Don't know that either."

She threw him a curve ball. "What would you like to say to your father?"

"Go to hell on a one-way ticket."

She knew he was serious. "Why?"

"'Cause there's nothing left to say."

"I'd like you to complete this worksheet again, and this time specifically about the next time you speak to Taylor."

"For next week?" He asked, feeling anxious about having a deadline he wouldn't keep to have a conversation he didn't want to have.

"For whenever you talk next."

 _Friday 4_ _th_ _November, 8.08pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

Because they didn't work for a bespectacled billionaire, saving lives as The Machine dictated, Gina insisted on Paul taking her out for Date Night to get him out of the house and his moping. She knew he liked anything short so the mid-thigh-length _Do-me-good-I'll-tell-you-anything-you-want-to-hear_ black dress with lace capped shoulders would have to do for the comedy club in Harlem where a post-divorce Chris Rock was known to frequent. The problem was, the Carter whose eyes popped out his head when he saw her wasn't the man she loved; it was his father.

About four shades darker, an inch shorter and a whopping 60 pounds heavier, Jeremy Carter greeted her with the enthusiasm of a sexagenarian who popped two Viagra pills with Coke. "Hot damn, he still knows how to pick 'em. You must be Gina. You know Regina means Queen, right?"

She couldn't believe Carter Sr was effectively kicking game at their doorstep. "Uhhh, Paul?"

He came downstairs with his shirt still unbuttoned. "What the-?" Even the striking arch in her back couldn't keep his attention because his father was there, sending him into an internal mental frenzy just by showing up unannounced.

Jeremy smiled. "You did good, son. Finally got you a _real_ black woman."

Gina was confused because it was such a low blow against a woman she never had a problem with. "We're heading out. You look good, babe."

Jeremy cleared his throat. "That's cool. You'd be a fool to stay home, tonight. So just tell me where's my room and I'll entertain myself. Big ass house like this I know you got Watchflix." Paul looked at his girlfriend, making an odd request with his eyes. She didn't understand it fully but she knew he needed rescuing from this Voldemort figure who looked like a cuddly Black Santa Claus without the uniform.

"Come in, Jeremy. I'll make your bed before we leave."


	39. Mouse

_A/N: Are you a man or a mouse?_

 _Fun fact: I've never read Mice & Men but I love the idiom._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

 _Saturday 5_ _th_ _November, 9.45am, Douglass Hall, Emory University_

Girls were different. Taylor knew that from a biological perspective but it was a different thing waking up to one – by choice this time. Case in point, Zahra's roommate hadn't come home from whatever party she went to the night before but her bed was perfectly made. Theirs must have been the cleanest room on campus and didn't have that stale sock smell either. As usual, Zahra was in two minds; having asked him to stay because she wanted intimacy but, curling up in a protective shell because she was afraid of her own body. Deep down, she didn't count on Taylor being patient enough to stay with her if she couldn't give him what guys wanted, not much longer anyway.

"D'you think I'm weird?" She asked, because she definitely did.

He knew it was one of those trick questions girls asked that had no right answer. "I think you're hot."

She tried to tell him she was being serious. "Taylor-"

"Hot. Just…hot." There were missed calls from a private number on his phone, which were probably from his grandad who no-one outside of Virginia liked.

"What's up?" She asked, showing once again how oddly perceptive she was.

"It's nothing big, I guess. Just family stuff."

She rolled over to face him, not that there was much room. "I know about family stuff. It's messy."

"Yeah. It's like a big black hole and all the secrets are down there."

"Some secrets you don't wanna know, Tay." She said knowingly and with regret.

He disagreed. "I know your secret. And I see you the same. Just braver." Zahra smiled, but it didn't console her because she didn't believe him. "You want me to go, huh?"

She nodded because it was starting to get awkward and she didn't understand her own feelings; of affection, of love, and of paralysing fear. "Okay." Taylor chose his words carefully. "You know it's okay, right? Like…it is what it is. And I'm only going 'cause you asked me to." That thought had never crossed her mind until then.

 _10.04am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Jeremy didn't have a subtle bone in his body and had swiftly made himself welcome at his son's house, frying up a calorific breakfast while playing Zapp and Roger on the docking station. The Saturday newspaper was already read and he left the dripping spatula on it. Gina knew her man wouldn't take it well to see another man was wearing his slippers and drinking his favourite coffee considering the locked horn situation he was having with John. "How'd you sleep, Jeremy?" Gina asked, because this stay was supposed to be temporary.

For once, the old man didn't have something offensive to say. "Slept like a baby. You did alright for yourself, son. Must've cost a grip."

Since he ate the last of the turkey bacon and eggs, Paul settled for cereal instead. "What'd you want Pop? Money?"

"Why? You offering? Last I heard you're still stingy as hell."

Gina fished around in her coach's jacket for her car keys because her breakfast would be bought on the way on her 11am practice and she was going to fill her day with dance, friends and shopping until Jeremy was gone on her return. "We got in late last night; I would've made you breakfast."

Jeremy loaded the toaster with four slices. "I'm no trouble, show me a fridge and I'll whip something up. Don't tell me my son still can't cook. Like I use to tell him; steam the rice, don't drown it."

Gina bit her lips together to keep from laughing because it was true. "He's alright in the kitchen. I have class so I'll leave you to talk."

Jeremy waved, watching her leave. "Good God. Where'd you find her?"

"When are you leaving?" Paul asked, extra grumpy from his cold breakfast.

Jeremy didn't expect a warm reception but he didn't expect a frosty one either. The Paul he knew was lukewarm; neither hot nor cold, just there, not making his presence felt wither way. It never crossed his mind his son shrunk because he felt small in his presence; like he did today. "When I see my grandson, he has to show up sometime. Like Thanksgiving."

The prospect of 3 and a half more weeks living in close proximity to his father gave Paul dangerous thoughts. "I wouldn't've come if you just picked up the phone like a _man_ and invited me." _And we're off._ "Besides, I'm getting old. Gotta make sure Taylor turned out alright after she sent him to that white school."

"First of all, stop looking at Gina like that; there's nothing for you over there." Jeremy raised his hands in surrender because he son finally got some bass in his voice. "Second, you can't stay here; this is my house, so come Monday I'm getting you a ticket back to Norfolk or Portsmouth or wherever you're staying. And third, stop badmouthing Joss; no-one wants to hear all that."

Jeremy believed in the power of small victories. He often pushed his son waiting for the day he pushed back; that still hadn't happened but at least this was a step in the right direction. "You know what, you're right about Gina; guess it's been too long, son." Paul nodded, unaware that would be the one-and-only highlight of his father's stay. "But I got a one-way ticket for a reason, like you got a one-way ticket when your _bougie bougie_ Joss kicked you out on your ass and you had no place to go _but_ home, _Pauly-Paul_." Paul was triggered by the effeminised 'nickname' his dad called him when he was being emotional, or human, as a child. And as a teen. And as a broken soldier sleeping on his couch because he had nothing; no wife, no home, and no money. "So I'm not going _no_ where 'til I see Taylor like I said. And _last_ , that girl _never_ respected _you_ , your _family_ , _or_ where you come from so be loyal if you want to. And a _fool_." Jeremy took a considered pause. "Maybe it's that shrink, _Susan_ , messing with your head." Paul felt his shoulders drop in shame as he shrunk into a 10-year-old boy because he was so exposed. "Yep. I saw the calendar last night. Anyway like I said, I'm no trouble; I'm just me."


	40. Marvel

A/N: This is a throwback to Body Count, Chapter 5. Careese in an almost-empty room with no distractions.

No, Jeremy's not going anywhere for a while, and yes, Paul's going to counselling next chapter.

Oh, and yes I'm still collecting M words :D

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 40: Marvel

 _Saturday 5_ _th_ _November, 10.11pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Joss should've known something was up when Janelle whistled as she took an extra-long time on her hair; from the hot oil treatment to the pre-conditioner to the deep conditioner to the large roller set (which Joss had to be talked into) to the new essential oil mix she made for the special occasion and down to the scalp massage that Joss thanked the Lord several times for. Even Kim-Lee got in on the action – turning her pedicure into a jet spa, mud scrub and gel polish affair. The inspiration for their diligence and overexertion came from a suited and booted man referred to as White Chocolate who was paying them both by the hour to keep Joss occupied. And when she was presentable – save for her casual autumnal woollen sweater dress, thermal leggings and platform boots – John picked her up in the black Rolls Royce. She hoped it wasn't some weird 'anniversary of the shooting' affair as that particular date in November was actually the 19th and she'd rather forget. But Joss should've taken the 5 years they'd spent together as a hint to have a deeper and more open sense of imagination.

Sometimes it was the little things that caught her off-guard; like watching him turn the key and unlock the door like a normal person or the pour the cabernet in actual red wine glasses instead of some chipped mug from whichever studio apartment he was squatting in at the time. Though they didn't have any real furniture yet; they had a beige and warm-red bruyere rug on the living room floor, a mounted electrical fire on the wall, and a kitchen island which seemed to be enough for them…until John raised the bar.

Joss was already feeling tipsy after a glass and a half, but it didn't affect her reading. She knew what the words "Deed of Sale" meant any day and thought the wet signature on it was the prettiest chicken scratch she'd ever seen. J.H. Nichols had outdone himself this time and even though her heels and a sorority t-shirt were across town; Joss had enough nerve, Dutch courage and appreciation to wear out a thousand rugs on her knees while John gave her 7 reasons to burst into song throughout the Uptown streets about the man who made her soul sing out with joy, gave her security when no one else could and make sex excited and adventurous again. There was something about him that made her free and unguarded in her own naked skin, maybe it was his tongue…or just his affirming, truthful eyes of blue crystal salt attentively taking her in. He was the bubbles in every glass of champagne she ever said no to; the crazy rush of a wild ride she never dared to take before. "I love you." Joss said freely, picking a ball of lint out of her hair. "Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, turning down the fire before returning to their blanket-less sleeping spot on the carpet.

"For loving me, wild and free. And my son." She chuckled. "And Ma and St. Gregory."

He smiled, because they were his family; as nosy and meddling and loving and generous as they were. "Joss-"

"No self-deprecating tonight, John. You did good, you can own it at least for tonight."

"Joss…" He never got to say what he wanted to; that he loved her without limits and across state lines, that home was where she was, that love was her and she was love, that no matter what she would always be taken care of, that if Noguerra gave her any more trouble Scout was coming home pregnant with mutts, that Taylor would probably be a Mayor one day but never president because it was too far away from the people, that even if Taylor never asked him and Evelyn never prodded him he could've married her every day of the week…just not in Summerville because her family was crazy in the nicest possible way…

But that never happened; because for the first time in their relationship sex too good had John Reese, Fighter of Crime, knocked out like a light before she was. And in one more way, Joss won.

 _Wednesday 9_ _th_ _November, 2.45pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

On the 10th day Brock missed morning canvassing, Hugh visited him to set him straight, after all a founding principle of R.U.M.M. was collective responsibility. While Taylor thought it was ridiculous that Brock could practically pee on command if Hugh told him to, the information on the student website backed up his mom's advice that there was no fighting a group unless the (non-)friend wanted out themselves. The conflict was showing on Brock's increasingly-pink face, even though he couldn't hear their conversation over _Michael Kiwanuka_ 's Black man in a white world, he read body language better than most. The letter in the brown envelope was an invitation for Brock to apologise to the regional leader for his absence; a written warning that was supposed to bring him back into the fold. The issue was; Brock couldn't afford to be in the fold and stay in school, unless he wished to return home to Jasper, Arkansas and tell his parents who sold their car to transport him and his possessions to campus in the first place. Hugh noticed he wasn't as receptive as usual and blamed the present company; Taylor's occasional hums were a distraction.

When Brock was a sufficient shade of salmon, Hugh left, giving him time to swallow his pride. Taylor took off his headphones because he knew that face. It was the same face Reggie used when he needed help getting out of the same trouble he was going to jump right back into the following week. "What's up?"

"Jenny's study group is the same time as this meeting."

"What meeting?"

Brock swallowed. "The meeting where they decide if I'm still in or not."

"And?" Taylor asked, thinking he wasn't going to make the decision so he could turn around and blame him for it later.

"If I go to the group I can pull up my grade, but if I don't go to the meeting they'll kick me out."

Taylor stated the obvious. "Sounds like a tough decision."

Brock bit his lip. "What'd you think I should do?"

 _Study, obviously_. "I don't think anything." Taylor lied, because there was enough going on with his grandpa Jeremy who was staying at his dad's house and making his voice shaky on the phone.

"Can I read your calc notes?"

 _You treat my girlfriend like crap, you let Hugh come over here and punk you, and you're about to flunk outta school but you want my notes? This guy…_ "No. _Deuces_." Brock knew he was heading to the library hours before his shift started, just to get away from him, and that drove home the idea that either way; he was alone.


	41. Morph

_A.N.: Are we all morphing into our parents? Let's discuss._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 41. Morph

 _Thursday 10th November 2016, 2.23pm, 8th Precinct_

All it took was Joss' revelation that they made custom 8-foot-wide beds these days to make John return the dog but that didn't mean he was done with Captain Preston Noguerra. For example, sometimes the radio in his car malfunctioned and played a 7-second clip of the theme from _Lassie_. But he was equally relieved, that Scout was returned without any noticeable injuries or damage, and furious that Scout was returned by an old lady who found her on her doorstep with a note in her mouth. In Shaw's chicken scrawl was written, " _Needs better snacks – 8th Precinct_ ". 68-year-old Lucille Munro was quick to say she lived two blocks away and thought _Lassie_ dogs were adorable. That immediately spiked his defences. "Excuse me?"

"You know…the show. I guess you're too young to remember. Have a nice day, Captain Nagiri." He didn't bother to correct her as Laz escorted her out. For someone who thought so much of his image, Noguerra knew what the Precinct was thinking about his canine manhunt not too long ago and it wasn't good.

 _8.03pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

Even since Jeremy put his feet under the kitchen table, and on the coffee table and even in his Isotoners because they were so comfortable, Paul and Gina had been having the same conversation every night.

 _"When is he going home?"_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"He's your father, how can you not know?"_

 _"He said Thanksgiving."_

 _"Pssshhhh. From the looks of it he has nowhere else to go."_

 _"He does – the old house in Norfolk. He's here 'cause he wants something. I need to find out what it is."_

And every night, Gina would shake her head, put on a satin hair bonnet and some face cream and tell him to find another way of handling his dad. So when his weekly session with Susan arrived she was so happy so could've baked a box of Jheri curl Jesus cookies for the occasion because emasculated Paul was a real buzzkill and wasn't the man she knew him to be.

Susan anticipated Paul would have another verbal ejection at the beginning of their session to let off steam so she steered him in another direction before he could. "Hello Paul, have you completed the worksheet?"

He knew she was really asking if he'd seen Taylor. "Not yet." She nodded and made a note about avoidance. "But I could have; if it was about my dad."

She understood why he was sweating so profusely, beyond the gym clothes he was wearing. "You spoke to your father?"

"He showed up on my doorstep Saturday night…and…he's kinda staying with us." Paul looked away because he couldn't quite believe it himself.

It wasn't usual for Paul to bring up his father voluntarily, like he did on the anniversary of his mother Nicole's death, so she knew he was on edge because of his unwanted houseguest. "How do you feel about seeing him after so long?"

Paul took a deep breath. "Like crap." He knew she was quiet because she was waiting for him to elaborate. "Like he can't stop jabbing and I can't block fast enough."

"Do you feel attacked? Using your boxing analogy."

He was too proud to say it. "I feel like…he's got me up against the ropes and it's either I breathe and keep living, or fight to the death with an old pro. Smokin' Joe Frazier."

In their years together, Paul had never said outright that his father hit him but it was implied. But I her experience being belittled and mocked had a similar effect to being struck. Susan didn't believe in asking those questions because part of a client's progress came in putting their own words to their own experience. "That sounds like a difficult situation to be in."

"He wants something. He said he wants to see Taylor but I don't buy it."

"Why do you think he wants something?" She queried, noting down ' _lack of trust_ ' on her clipboard.

 _Because he's breathing._ "Because…he showed up empty-handed." Paul stopped his involuntary foot-tapping because he didn't want to look like a 'nutcase'.

"How do you feel about the prospect of Taylor meeting his grandfather?"

The nervous hand wringing was more noticeable than the week before. "I guess I avoided it so he wouldn't know how he is; but now…I think he needs it."

"Why?"

 _So someone knows I'm not crazy._ "Just because."

 _11.46pm, 8th Precinct_

Fusco had had his fill of reviewing old traffic camera videos alongside his partner about two hours ago, tracking Dave Prewitt's car moves but on the up-side they had evidence of one of the sex offenders on her list going to a Thai massage parlour which violated the terms of his release. This long and excruciatingly boring way of work was the opposite of being in Finch's 'devil may care' A Team and reminded her of the days when she was 'by the book'. Out of hours, she couldn't find that particular book, or the shelf it sat on, or the library it belonged to. And speaking of untoward practices, Joss had a question for her partner. "What happened to Charlie McElroy's nose?" She asked after her Chinese rice sticks and chow mein run.

"You have your ways and I have mine. Put me outta my misery, Carter."

She sensed something deeper was up with him. "It's a slippery slope, Fusco."

He wasn't in the mood for her advice. "And how's playing nice working out for ya? Besides playing _To catch a Predator_?"

Joss raised he reyebrows. "So that's what we do now? What's up with you?"

A few angry chews later he responded. "Phillipe got a new job and he's raking it in so instead of watching the game with me, they're taking my kid to Saratoga Springs this weekend."

"I'm sorry, Fusco."

He played it off like it didn't bother him the way it did. "Anyway, I'm taking Vonnie on our third and fourth date on my day off."

She was impressed. It wasn't like him to divulge those kinds of details because fate (or Finch) usually conspired to gate-crash his attempts at a normal personal life. So she gave him the response he needed. "At least we can place Dave Prewitt in the area, and with Elmer's testimony, his behavioural records at work, and the camera footage; that's enough for a warrant. So sometimes the nice guy wins."

He couldn't believe she was handling Noguerra's set-up so well. "Anything to give the big guy the finger, huh?"

She smiled. "There's that…and Joey deserves better than dying that way. Abused and alone." That was enough to put his problems into perspective.

 _Veterans Day, Friday 11th November 2016, 7.21am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

For the first night since his arrival, Gina didn't ask about the duration of Jeremy's stay because she knew it was too long regardless. Paul seemed better, less burdened after counselling, but his father woke up extra early to catch him before work. The idea of his first-born son whining in a room, spilling all his business and crying like a little girl didn't sit right with him. "So how long are you gonna keep this up?" Jeremy asked, noticing there were more bacon rashers on Paul's plate than his. "This shrink business."

Paul sighed and filled in the last three numbers in the Sudoku box. "As long as I want. What do you want?"

Jeremy was confused. "To see Taylor like I told you already."

"I don't believe you."

"You calling me a liar?" Jeremy asked, locking his fingers together with his elbows on the kitchen table.

Gina didn't know where to look but the tension was putting her off the most important meal of the day. "You want something and I know it." Paul stated, locking eyes with his father. "You always do."

"I want…to eat my breakfast in peace but I can't without you throwing some girly bitchfit." Jeremy said casually, spreading cream cheese on a bagel.

Gina watched her man morph into someone she didn't recognise. It started with a smile, then his lips parted unleashing a reckless tongue. "Taylor's gonna know you're trash. Eat up."

 _7.47am, Joss' apartment, New York_

Even though he'd only been home for 20 minutes, restless John couldn't wait to move into a place that was equally theirs even though Joss was taking the organised and timely route with packing. _Keep, give, sell, throw away_. Her sell box was empty, her throw away box had some torn clothes courtesy of John, her give box was almost full, and her keep box could've been the whole place. He sensed her hesitation and knew he couldn't just push her into what he wanted or ask her ' _What is it about this stuff?_ ' _Guess that's what normal people do._

"Why're you looking at me like that?" Joss asked, in good spirits because she had an arrest warrant for Dave Prewitt and planned to nab him at the office first thing Monday morning.

"No reason." John took off his shirt because it was almost time to sleep on his vampiric schedule. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She smirked and run her hand down his chest. "You're going all _Magic Mike_ on me and that's not fair. So what'd you get up to last night? Gunpowder, treason and plot?"

"If I told you…"


	42. Mirror

_A/N: In the spirit of Thanksgiving, Shirley Caesar deserves better. #Younameit_

 _Credit to_ **Jhill88** _for the prompt - you'll know it when you see it._

 _Off to write Thanksgiving high-jinks at Evelyn's and we all know about those family dinners...oh you don't, where've you been? ;)_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 42: Mirror

 _Tuesday 15_ _th_ _November 2016, 4.07pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

'When it rains, it pours' was a phrase Brock's grandmother Ada was fond of using, along with 'bad things come in threes'. And she was proved right on both counts when 5 hours after he missed his disciplinary meeting the R.U.M.M. regional officer for the Atlanta branch, Brock received an Temporary Exclusion email for non-compliance, an invitation to discuss his academic performance with the Student Funding board that managed his scholarship, and a notification from his bank that he didn't have sufficient funds to cover a recent transaction. A few unreturned text messages to Hugh and calls set straight to voicemail indicated that his exclusion was in effect immediately and the authoritative voice and dominating presence in his life was gone.

Taylor and Zahra's laughing didn't help as they watched 'online daredevil fails' together through a headphone jack splitter and although he couldn't hear the cries of pain and motorbikes revving up, Brock thought they and the rest of the world were laughing at him. Broke, nearly-flunking and shut out of a group he gave at least 70 hours a week to all semester; Brock felt like his life was over because he was left without enough money for the bus tickets home for Thanksgiving. Even though he refused to speak her name or acknowledge her presence, Zahra knew there was something wrong when Brock ran from the room with his hand over his mouth to puke a few doors down and didn't come back 10 minutes later.

"What are you doing?" Taylor asked, as his girlfriend turned detective and read the letter on Brock's bed.

"Oh this is soooooo sick." She shook her head and gave it to him to read.

"They kicked him out. For 30 days? _Non-compliance_ … _Forbidden from maintaining contact_ …this is like a restraining order." Taylor explained, due to the similarity in language.

Zahra raised her eyebrows thinking her boyfriend had more secrets than he let on. "How'd you know that?"

He sighed and told her something he'd only told his former roommate. "My mom's a cop. A detective…homicide."

So many thoughts rushed through her head; like if that was why he didn't flinch when she told him she was cut, or how he could afford to fly home when she heard cops didn't make a lot of money, and if that caused his parents' split. "Wow." Was all she could say.

"Yeah, so…it's _weird_."

Zahra nodded because that would make anyone feel like a misfit, something she was very familiar with. "Are the shows real?"

He shook his head. "It takes longer than 40 minutes to catch a criminal."

"You ever shot a gun?" She asked, because secretly she'd like to learn. He nodded. "Are you good?"

Taylor hid his true abilities from everyone, even from John who sensed he was holding back but assumed it was his conscience pricking him. "I'm…average."

"You're lying." She said perceptively, but knew he didn't want to answer any more questions. Well, except one. "Pizza?"

 _6.38pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

In the 30 hours since Detective Joss Carter arrested an unassuming Dave Prewitt three bites into his BLT sandwich, and the case landed directly at the top of District Attorney Winters' files, she planned to charge him with Sexual Assault of a Minor and First Degree Murder due to the compelling evidence on the cold case that exposed the shortcomings of the foster care system and exploitation of a minor that was ward of the state. But D.A. Deniece Winters wasn't content with just taking legal action, she wanted to understand why the Special Victims unit wasn't brought on board to assist the reopened investigation considering its sensate nature; a question Capt. Noguerra couldn't answer honestly without dashing his reputation further. "Well, I believed Carter had enough resource and she didn't request additional support."

D.A. Winters shook her head and he felt his leadership being questioned silently. "I heard something through the grapevine about a lost dog…"

"I insist, it's a vicious rumour." Although she wasn't convinced, she didn't pursue it further and left with a firm handshake. Noguerra still didn't trust Carter but realised she had more support in unsuspecting places than he realised. Her request for leave around Thanksgiving sat on his desk untouched and he used that as an in to pick her brains. "Have you given any more consideration to her future here, Detective?"

Joss wasn't stupid enough to reveal her next moves so he could thwart them for her. "I haven't had much time to think about anything, but now I can let the case go and spend time with family." Just looking at him turned her stomach because she couldn't respect him even if she tried.

He wanted to ask her outright if she wanted to be Captain one day but the timing was off. "Detective Mantega can cover you. Your leave is Approved."

"Thank you." On her way out, he couldn't figure her out, if she was irrepressibly happy or just smug, devious or just that damn good.

 _9.26pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

With Thanksgiving just 9 days away, Gina knew the bubble of tension would burst, hitting the fan and covering them all in crap. In preparation for her team's morning performance in a community Thanksgiving parade, she held extended practice making her arrive home too late to cook dinner or get home in time to sedate Jeremy with a Redd Foxx DVD. She could hear the yelling down the street and groaned as she opened the front door. Jeremy wasn't the type of man to dial his anger down in mixed company, quite the opposite. "What's going on here?" Gina asked.

" _Sumbitch_." Jeremy said disapprovingly, abbreviating 'son of a bitch' with a twang.

She looked to Paul for answers. "Errr, hello? What's going on here?"

Paul sucked on his bottom lip to stall. "He just found out Taylor's not coming here for Thanksgiving."

That was a given, Taylor always spent holiday meals with his mom and grandparents because Evelyn was the best cook and Paul always appeared at some point to grab a to-go plate and take him home. "So what's the problem? You can talk after." Her simple solution was met with grunts because it wasn't that easy. "I need to talk to you." She told Paul, thinking this wasn't working at all.

"Sure."

"Now." She whispered, and like that he followed her upstairs to reveal what sparked the argument in the first place.

Behind a closed bedroom door Paul took a few deep breaths before confirming his first instinct was right. "He wants to sell the house. My mom's house. Some developer wants to knock down all the houses and put up a new set of apartments and a mini-mall. But she left her half to me, and I signed it over to Taylor and that's what he wants; a signature. That's why he's here."

Gina finally understood the battle of wills and she knew this was too much drama for her and the turkey wasn't even on the table yet. She sat on the bed and the first person she thought of was her gay assistant choreographer who she could stay with, since she gave up her rented apartment to move in in the first place. "I've been waiting for you to stand up to him."

"I have."

"You haven't. You can't fight fire with fire with bullies, Paul. I've been waiting for you to take a stand, not strut around acting like Jeremy 2.0 while you ignore Taylor, your _son_ , who by the way is walking into this mess this week. I've had it."

Paul didn't want her to leave, not when she had fast become his backbone. "Gina."

She tapped her foot because she wasn't playing. "Call Taylor. Now. And, finish the worksheet…acting like you know better than Susan…."

 _10.43pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

John was very pleased with himself, more so than usual, when Joss finally saw the results of his pet project. To match the custom 8-foot-wide bed frame that hadn't arrived yet, he wasted no time getting a 6-foot-wide mirror installed on the ceiling since they weren't the kind of couple that taped themselves in actions. "So…what do you think?"

Joss felt a headache coming on; it was ridiculous, it was dangerous, it was oh so indulgent and yes, it was very, very _John_. But like every good wife before her, she didn't want to undermine his efforts. Especially not before his first proper Thanksgiving at Evelyn's as her husband instead of her 'friend'. "It's…something. You've outdone yourself this time, John of Hearts." It was strange seeing the top of her head from that angle but she played it off. "So this is what it looks like when you put your mark on a place?"

"I try." He gave her that 'slap me if you want' smirk. "Come here. I wanna show you something." She bit her own lip for a change but it wasn't an invitation. He led her to the closet that would inevitably be two thirds hers and pulled a leather briefcase off the top shelf.

"Let me guess, there are documents in there." Joss joked, but the HK MP5 grenade pistol inside was so recklessly Alpha and life-threatening that it gave her an adrenaline rush. "What the…?"

"I was thinking Taylor could step it a notch, using something with more power."

Joss kicked herself for thinking it was her illegally gotten gift, instead it was a thoughtful, illegally-gotten gift for son to 'graduate' with. And the fact he even took the time to plan quality time with her son touched her deeply…even if it was the most adorably irresponsible thing she'd seen in a long time. Again, she swallowed it for the sake of the holidays. "You're just… _firing_ on all cylinders."


	43. Murky

A/N: Hey folks, in order to meet my Thanksgiving deadline and deal with work I have to write this in parts (two, maybe three).

Either way I promise it'll be worth it.

And if no-one ever told you, "assholery" is an S.A.T. word.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 43: Murky (Part 1)

 _A week later, Wednesday 23_ _rd_ _November 2016, 11.06am, Turner Hall, Emory University_

After a week on the outs of R.U.M.M., the humiliation of being shut out of a group he gave his time, energy, GPA and money to still brought Brock down, and his method of coping involved a lot of duvet time and noodles. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Taylor and his "muzzlum" girlfriend were having a pillow fight while play-arguing about movies he'd never seen. The group told him that lukewarm people like Taylor were traitors against God, guilty of sullying the religion through their association with 'them'. And 'them' was always a scary group that plotted to destroy the Earth and take their sacred religion with them. But watching them together made him envy that kind of genuine connection, friendship even. When Zahra went down the hall to say goodbye to her friend, Brock realised things weren't as clear as he once thought they were. Taylor knew he couldn't do anything about the cult or his pathetic grades but he figured no one should have to stay on campus for Thanksgiving. "Here. Use it, don't use it. Whatever."

Brock was so speechless and ashamed by the one-way bus ticket to Little Rock he couldn't even say 'thank you'. Just seeing Taylor throw his duffel bag over his shoulder as they left for the airport was enough to confuse him further about the group he initially joined for friendship with 'like-minded guys'.

 _4.52pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

From CeCe's head-down approach to peeling sweet potatoes and Reggie's scowl, Evelyn and Gregory knew both mother and son were in a bad place. Gregory decided to distract the seething 20-year-old by putting together the metal bed frame in the guest room. Joss' mother wasn't one to mind her own business especially when in 24 hours, her home would be host to the New York branch of the family, small though it was. "How's your class going?" She asked, licking buttercream frosting off the back of a spoon.

Cece sighed because it felt like a prison sentence, having to attend a class where watching car pile-ups and hearing testimonies from drunk driving victims' families was routine. "I guess it's supposed to make us feel guilty, and it works. But I don't belong there. I wasn't trying to hurt anybody that night."

Big Reggie was still as present as he was absent and Evelyn didn't know what it would take because it seemed even Tasha Cobbs couldn't break that chain. "You need to date."

"Not you too, Aunt Ev."

"You _do_." She insisted because she was right. And she'd noticed CeCe had lost 10 pounds on the Reggie Diet, too sick with herself and him to eat properly. "There's a whole world of men out there, looking for love in the right places. Like the grocery store, or the market, or the museum, or a sports bar, a _nice_ one."

CeCe smiled because she appreciated her efforts. "You know I really thought it'd be different this time. And Reggie…" She shook her head because Reggie's coach called to say he'd been belligerent in the locker room lately, not with his teammates but with him, and that was a problem. Without football, there was no scholarship, and even though Reggie was smart enough to transfer she feared how he would cope without the structure and male influence in his life if it all came to an end. But Aunt Ev was a blabbermouth and it wasn't worth telling her something she'd just repeat to Joss and Tullie and whoever would listen later. "He's unfocused."

"Girls?" Evelyn thought the apple didn't fall too far from the tree in that department.

"Something like that."

 _6.14pm, Lower Manhattan_

After he'd dropped his duffel bag, raided the fridge, showered and crashed out on his bed, Taylor was ready to re-join society as a native New Yorker with unusual plans. But before he got the chance to meet up with some friends, John took over his phone and sent him an encrypted address that led his Honda Civic to an old converted warehouse. Since the last time they saw each other was in the midst of trouble and confusion, John was more than happy to see the light back in Taylor's eyes. "Grasshopper."

"Sensei." There was no hugging, just knowing smirks that there was trouble was ahead. "What'd you do?" Taylor asked, wondering which element was involved.

"Me? Nothing." Taylor put on a cap, covered his ears and waited as John opened a briefcase revealing something he'd only seen in a video game.

"She's gonna kill us." Taylor said, oddly excited about letting off steam with a gun so powerful it would give his true skill away.

"Probably." John put his hand on his shoulder. "I've been waiting for this day."

It wasn't like him to get sentimental. "What's it called?"

"A HK MP5 and that's the grenade launcher. But don't worry, I already paid for the damage."

"You're a stand-up guy, John." Taylor said casually, stopping him in his tracks.

"A what?"

"You know…decent. Is this my jacket?" _Yeah Son, yeah, it is_.

 _Thanksgiving Day, Thursday 24_ _th_ _November, 11:56am, St. Luke's Methodist Church, Brooklyn, New York_

When the cleanly shaven Rev. Harris gave his sermon on 'Every day is a Day of Thanks' and Gregory accompanied a local reggae band's rendition of 'Give Thanks with a grateful heart', Taylor felt at home in a _come-as-you-are_ environment, not the _break-you-down-to-never-build-you-up_ ' situation Brock was in. And even though his assholery was hard to live with, Taylor still prayed his roommate would be alright…and survive the encounter with his parents when they found out. " _And so, as you are loved; love others. And as you are blessed; bless others. And most importantly; in all things, give thanks._ "

Instead of the usual staying around after church for tea and cake, the congregation spilled out of the double doors to continue cooking their respective feasts. Taylor woke Reggie up with a few taps and a punch to the arm to bring him out of his slumber, they straggled behind as the church emptied and even the Reverend had disappeared into his office. A tall, portly, elderly man approached them and Reggie wiped the drool from his mouth. "That was a nice service, don't you think?"

Reggie nodded even though he missed three quarters of it. "Yes, Sir." Taylor replied, thinking he was lost. Otherwise, why else was he staring at him? "We have to go home, now. You know, Thanksgiving." The man smiled and looked him up and down, then stared into his eyes. Reggie got the same vibes he had in Little League when he told his mom about Coach Landers, who was later arrested for inappropriate behaviour with minors. "Uhh, Reverend Harris is in his office." Taylor said, snapping the man out of his intense staring.

"I came here to see _you_ , Taylor." Reggie thought now was a great time to call 911. "It's me." Taylor's face was blank. "Grandpa." Taylor raised his eyebrows with the same blank expression. "Jeremy."

"Ohhhh…" Taylor said knowingly. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you...Graa…" Jeremy was expecting a hug. Or excitement. But at least his grandson shook hands firmly like a man so that was a good sign. "This is my cousin Reggie."

Reggie shook his hand and stared at him with his head cocked to the side, wondering if Taylor's pop-up grandpa lived on the same whack-a-mole planet as his dad did. "You play football, son?" Jeremy asked, because of his build. Reggie nodded. "Yeah, Paul had talent. Should've gone Pro instead of wasting it on that…" He stopped because his grandson was standing right in front of him. "…Other job. What'd you play?" He asked Taylor, because he didn't know much about him except he went to Private (White) school, inherited his dad's mathematical talent, and Gina had good things to say about him.

"Soccer." Jeremy snorted because it wasn't a real sport. "And Tetris."

Jeremy didn't get the joke but he smiled anyway. It was striking how much his seed's seed looked like Josiah, proving _bougie-ass_ Joss didn't give him anything from the Carters except his last name. "So what are your plans for Turkey Day?"

"Eating at Grams." Taylor sensed that was a mistake. A big mistake. But it was too late to take it back. Gregory didn't recognise the man talking to the youngbloods and knew his wife started fussing about five minutes ago. "Gregory Clement. Is this your first time at St. Luke's?"

Jeremy shook his hand. The man could play, without question. "Yeah, I'm Jeremy Carter, Taylor's grandpa. Just visiting from outta town."

"Yeah, where?"

"Norfolk, Virginia."

"That's a long way."

"Had to see the grandson, you know how it is…"

Gregory had heard things – not-so-nice things – about Jeremy from his wife but as a staunch pacifist and lifelong peacemaker, he unwittingly set the hungry pot of kerosene and fish grease on fire. "How long are you in town?"

"'Til Monday." Jeremy didn't have a ticket booked to anywhere but he knew Paul was planning on kicking him out after the weekend because it was written all over his face.

"Then you have to join us for lunch…unless you have plans."

"Me?" Jeremy asked. "You don't have to do that."

"Of course, join us."

"Well…if you insist."

 _4:58pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

When John arrived with a bucket of peonies for his mother-in-law in exchange for his tardiness, CeCe felt slighted because Joss had a man who would go to the end of the Earth for her and Taylor and her love life dried up months, if not years, ago. There was one person who was immune to his blue-eyed charm; an otherwise cantankerous man from a different generation who couldn't believe his ex-daughter-in-law was not only sleeping with the enemy but married to him too. And no one else had a problem with it. Not even his grandson, who seemed awfully close to this man, or the big-mouthed cousin who told a thinly-veiled story about a man, a shooting rifle, and a deer.

Despite the action, including Gregory whispering something in his wife's ear that made her smile, giggle and almost knock over her tall glass of sweet tea, Jeremy noticed his grandson's quietness and constant stare; like he was looking at a stranger. He cleared his throat. "So…what'd you do down there in Atlanta?"

The mood shifted, from casual laughter and conversation to awkwardness. "Math and Computer Science. More math."

"You got a job?"

Taylor nodded. "Library."

Jeremy smiled. "Gina said you got a girlfriend."

Joss knew Zahra was a soft spot for her son and it wouldn't end well. "Uhhh, does anyone want more pie?"

 _5:26pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

The only reason why Evelyn didn't mind her uninvited houseguest was because he kept his mouth shut for the most part, wasn't drunk and disorderly (this time), and every third sentence spoken over her feast was a compliment. She still didn't trust Jeremy as far as she could throw him and neither did her very distracted daughter. While Gregory told a story about his youth in Trinidad and some stolen sugar cane while Maxwell was playing, Cece noticed her cousin and the man in the designer suit were eye-sexing so fervently in the lounge chair (and their own universe) if looks could talk they'd have a platinum cover of _Trick Daddy_ and _Trina_ 's Nann by now.

 _7.08pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

When Taylor and Reggie finished loading the dishwasher and drying Evelyn's nice glasses, Jeremy resisted the urge to say something outdated about 'women's work' and sat patiently until the football player got the hint that they needed privacy. "What'd they tell you about me?" He asked, loading the gun.

Taylor knew there was no right answer or way of winning. "That you wanted to see me."

He rubbed his chin because he was thinking, just like his dad did. "I did, I still do. But maybe tomorrow'll be better for us to talk."

"About what?" Taylor asked. But he didn't get his answer because his dad texted from downstairs. "Let's go. Before Dad starts charging."

Jeremy grinned, because he knew camping out at his son's place would pay off eventually.


	44. Milk

_A/N: This will be the second of three Thanksgiving (and Thanksgiving fallout) chapters._

 _Still collecting M words - I use them, I promise ;)_

 _Random fact: I got the chapter title from the phrase "something in the milk ain't clean". Which I love._

 _Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate and I'm gonna try to get you part 3 on time._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 44: Milk (2)

 _Thanksgiving Day, Thursday 24_ _th_ _November, 10.25pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

For a fantastic and complication musician, Gregory was light on his feet in contrast. Maxwell was still playing hours later and he thought enough swaying could take his paramour's mind off their unexpected visitor. "He's up to something." Evelyn said for the 6th time that evening.

"I know, love."

Not even Gregory's palm running against hers or his broad hand on the small of her back could bring her into the present moment. "We need to do something. Maybe John-"

"No, the less John does, the better for humanity." She smiled, because although she'd never seen him in action there was only so many times he could show up armed and injured for her to know he was at best an altruistic vigilante. "Taylor will be fine."

"You don't know Jeremy. He's a master manipulator. And a brute. And a liar."

"His father will protect him." Her snort was far from ladylike. "Ev, be nice."

She batted her eyelashes. "I'm _very_ nice…until I'm not. And if he messes with my grandbaby, I'm gonna set his flag on fire." They both laughed at her outdated turn of phrase.

 _11.19pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

The tension at Paul's house was as thick as whipped double cream but that didn't stop Jeremy from stirring. But if there was one thing Taylor had learnt that year, it was sometimes doing or saying nothing was just as good as doing or saying something. "I noticed you been lookin' at me funny, probably 'cause of what they told you. What'd he call me? A _monster_?" Jeremy asked his grandson, as he cut two slices of store-bought sweet potato pie. Gina couldn't bake that either. Though Paul had been hesitant to go to bed before his son did because he didn't trust his father or want to leave them alone together, Gina advised him to take the ' _Que sera, sera_ ' approach and stop trying to control the uncontrollable. Jeremy was relieved they were finally alone, because he had a chance to plead his case. "Look, I'm just a simple man with a simple house, Taylor. Not perfect, just simple. And don't forget; you come from me."

Taylor wasn't interested in that biology lesson. "D'you want milk? Cream?" Taylor asked, because he was getting the same vibes he felt when Hugh was around, even when his coercive words were blocked out by music.

"No."

"Fork or spoon?"

"Spoon." Jeremy answered, thinking he had Joss' manner; that simple, subtle way of saying a lot and very little at the same time. "So like I was saying…wait, what's that?" Jeremy squinted at the marking on his grandson's left wrist that was almost-always covered but a long-sleeved top.

"A compass." Taylor pulled up his sleeve so to show him the tattoo properly. "I got it last year but it kinda seems stupid now. I don't know. Guess I still like it."

"Hmmm." Jeremy added that to the growing list of things he'd recently learnt about his grandson. "Never got one, wasn't my thing." Taylor nodded and ate his pie with a fork and whipped cream on top. "Anyways, ummm, that house meant a lot to me. First house I ever called mine. Did you know it was your great-grandpa's on Nicole's side?" Taylor shook his head because he didn't know much about the Carter family tree except his dad used a chainsaw to cut himself off from most of it. "Left it to her when he died. We grew up in a boarding house so...you know…" Taylor listened because after a few months with Brock's spiralling drama he realised that was all he could do. "But now, it's just me. Paul never comes around, never brings you around. There's no-one to take care of it. It ain't the same. So I've been thinking about moving on. From a fresh start. Like you did when you went to Atlanta."

Taylor smiled because Jeremy's assumption was way off; it was heartbreak and failed plans with Bella that sent him down South in the first place, escaping from the girl who dropped him for something better by accepting the furthest offer away. But it wasn't far enough, and nowhere would be, until he finally let her go. Jeremy continued laying it on, "But I need help to do that. _Your_ help. 'Cause I ain't got nothin' else."

The contract was held in a plastic ring-bound folder with each double-sided page in its own transparent punch pocket. And though Taylor couldn't remember ever spending that much time in the same room as his grandfather, their names were side by side on paper and had been for years. "Jeremy _Vaughan_ Carter." Taylor read. "Vaughan?"

"I always hated that name; but my mama liked jazz."

"Mine too." Joss always said he was too young and impatient to appreciate the genre.

"So…what'd you think?"

Taylor couldn't finish his pie. "I think…I'll read it tomorrow. 'Night." That was an answer Jeremy didn't see coming.

 _11.34pm, Joss' apartment, New York_

" _A watched phone never rings_ " was a saying her mom was fond of. And although she was tipsy off the cognac and coke and drunk off John in an empty house, every now and then Joss' eyes flitted to the house phone with worry and John knew why; because for the first time since they'd met – and probably ever – she couldn't intervene on Paul's behalf and influence what was happening with her son. She'd stopped laughing at the Jack Nicholson movie 15 minutes ago. "Joss, if anything happens to Taylor I'm kicking both their asses on sight." He kissed her forehead for reassurance. "But you have to trust he can handle it." He read the question in her eyes. "He _can_. Wanna know what else he can handle?" She rolled her eyes. "A HK MP5 grenade pistol. His aim's a little off to the right but that's just a technicality."

"I'm never gonna hear the end of your _Rambo_ adventures, am I?"

"Can you forget about the deer?" It appeared Joss wasn't ready to let that old chestnut go. "Then we're shooting birds in Montana next Christmas…"

 _Friday 25_ _th_ _November, 3.45pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Unlike any woman Paul had ever known, Gina was surprisingly good with his father and even got him out of the house so they could have the father-son conversation he had avoided for a long time. Taylor was still a good student, and though he didn't understand every clause he understood the gist of the contract and that it had two points; to sell the house to the Bright Winthorpe Housing Group and to split the proceeds equally between its owners. Because he held a crucial piece of information his son didn't, Paul didn't understand why Taylor was so relaxed. "So he didn't waste anytime telling you?"

"Yeah. He wants to sell the house."

"And what'd you think?"

"I think…you hate that house so I don't get why you left it to me. I mean, I appreciate it but…why?"

Paul felt the weight of the situation fall on his shoulders as he sat down at the kitchen table. His instinct to run was still as strong as ever and the pressure made his temperature rise. "It's the only thing my mom left behind. Left to _me_ , I mean. So…I thought you should have it." That was a half-truth, the other half of the story was; with his half of the house signed off to his son, a financial tie was broken with his father, leaving just the emotional ones. "But Tay, you gotta know something…"

"What?" Josiah's eyes stared back at him and gave him chills. It was like the man he loved and respected revisited the Earth to tell him not to lie.

The water did nothing to ease the tightness in his throat or the dryness in his mouth. At a time like this, the best thing to do was call Joss so she could fix it; but she wasn't taking his calls. Susan advised him to breathe through his anxiety and remind himself he was in control with every breath and that it would pass. Paul wasn't used to this feeling; that it was all on him, and it was his place to fix it and find a solution that worked best. His inner child wanted to give Jeremy whatever he wanted so he would stop hurting him but that never worked.

 _You can't fight fire with fire with bullies, Paul._

"He wants it all, Tay. That's why he's here." Paul revealed, digging his nails into the table because he didn't know how Taylor would react or how to contain it. _Where was Joss when he needed her, when they needed her?_ And nothing could have prepared him for the words that came out of his son's mouth next.

"Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?"


	45. Machismo

_A/N: Hi guys, I've been working late (very late) but I wanted you to have this this morning. That still counts, right?_

 _This came very close to being an all-male chapter._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 45: Machismo

 _Friday 25_ _th_ _November 2016, 3.53pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

 _Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?_

 _Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?_

 _Is that why you left it to me? So you wouldn't have to fight him for it?_

The day Paul was dreading had finally come; when he stood at the intersection of father and son and appeared to be losing from all directions. Taylor's question rang in his ears like a clanging bell, unmissable and unforgettable. And of all the possible scenarios he'd considered, his son looking at him with betrayal and disappointment wasn't one of them. For the first time there wasn't someone else to fix it, as Joss wasn't taking his calls and if she was; John would probably want to put his two cents in. But the matter at hand was his son, who was waiting for an answer. An answer he didn't have, so he deflected. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"Because…" Taylor blinked. "It's true." _You're Brock and he's Hugh._ "You want me to make a decision so you don't have to, so it's not on you; it's on me." _Like you do with Ma._ "And _Jeremy_ wants me to shut up and go along with it and I can't. I'm sick of people using me who don't care."

Paul was stunned by the saddening accusation because they had come so far and this unwanted houseguest was ruining it for them. "Taylor, you know I care about you."

"How?" The long, excruciating silence that followed created room for their relationship to sink into the ground. Then Taylor uttered unfiltered words from his mind; a stream of consciousness. " _You_ let it get this far. He's been staying here for _weeks_ , just _waiting_ to screw me over. And you did _nothing_. You didn't even _try_ to stop him."

There was nothing Paul could say to get him off the hook, so he tried to displace the blame because he couldn't handle the pressure. "You don't know him."

"I don't have to. I know _you_." Josiah's eyes stared back at him again, filling him with shame and inadequacy. "And you're supposed to have my back. But I guess it's too much for you to be _his_ son and my _dad_ at the same time." Taylor was too disgusted to stay and could feel his car keys in his pocket calling him to leave, so he did.

"Where are you going?" Paul wasn't used to being walked out on, at least not by his son.

"Reggie's bored but he's too scared of rats to ride the subway. And I'm _not_ signing. I don't care what happens next."

Paul didn't know what to do, or how to make him stay, because all he could think of was having to face his father. And the door shut. And before he knew it, Taylor's car pulled out of the driveway.

 _4.47pm, Giovanni's Pizza, Brooklyn_

Reggie couldn't believe his cousin was over the girl who once had him strung out like Eddie Kane because the more Aleesha ignored him, blocked him and wouldn't let him in her apartment; the stronger his feelings grew for her. He didn't understand why rejection made her so appealing and wasn't mature enough to understand it was the template his parents set for him that would make a therapist and two divorce lawyers rich someday. Funnily enough, Taylor felt unburdened spilling to his cousin over his favourite pizza because they had problems. "I knew it. That motherf…" And there went that 4-syllable M word he was so fond of again. Taylor couldn't argue because it summed up the situation – and his grandfather's actions – quite succinctly. "My dad's got kids." Reggie confessed, not even close to being ready to talk about Aleesha and how she was throwing him off his game.

"How many?" Taylor asked, because it wasn't surprising.

"Three." That he knew of. "Five. Ten. Who knows?" Reggie shrugged his shoulders and ate the last crust.

" _Man_. You want _Meats Amore_?" Taylor offered, because although his dad profoundly disappointed him; at least he was around to do it.

Reggie nodded. "Extra mushrooms. No onions." Taylor ordered it through an app instead of flagging down a waiter. "You still with that girl? Zora?"

" _Zahra_. Yep." Reggie shook his head with disapproval. "What?"

"You love her." Taylor hadn't said it, and didn't know if it was true yet. But he didn't deny it either. Reggie figured since his pop-up grandpa was trying to shake him down for his half of the house, the timing was all wrong for his monologue about getting whipped, acting like a simp and being ghetto married again. So he kept his mouth shut. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing. If I sign it over, he makes off with my money. If I _don't_ sign it over, he does whatever he does when he's mad that everyone's so scared of. So the best thing I can do is nothing."

 _8.03pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Gina naïvely thought Jeremy was in a better mood because she took him out for the day when really it was the hope of coming home over one hundred thousand dollars richer that kept his spirits high. That hope was dashed when Paul sat him down on the sofa to tell him the contract wasn't signed, Taylor wasn't home and he was going back to Norfolk first thing tomorrow because there he wasn't welcome there. That was bad news. News he couldn't accept.

 _Saturday 26_ _th_ _November, 1.43am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

"What's that sound?" Gina asked, shaking Paul awake and flicking on the bedside lamp. This time they both the sound of breaking glass from downstairs and Paul did something he thought he would never have to do again in life. His Glock was stored in a shoebox in his closet, clean and ready to be loaded; though he often forgot it was there. This was another thing Gina never knew; she assumed after he left the service the last thing he'd want in his home was a weapon. Another glass broke and he assumed it was a window. "There's a bat under the bed. Stay here."

Paul's first thought from the top of the stairs was where Taylor was, since his car wasn't parked outside. But it gave him relief to know if they were being burgled, at least his son wasn't home. The sounds were coming from the kitchen and there was only one voice, uttering swear words intermittently. "Sons o' bitches." Jeremy grumbled as he threw a plate across the room, producing a sick half-smile as it hit the wall. This was the man he remembered, this was the fear he felt; rational fear, the fear of violence. Paul raised his gun. "Get outta my house."

Jeremy simply laughed and mimicked a baseball player, pitching a wine glass in his son's direction. His reflexes kicked it and it missed him by a wide berth. "You come from me." It wasn't clear if he'd been drinking because the Jeremy he knew was capable of that and much more, perfectly sober. "You ungrateful, whiny, spoilt piece of shit."

"Get outta my house, Jeremy."

"I always knew you were weak, _Pauly-Paul_. That's why I put you on that goddamn football field in the first place." That wasn't true; his 5th grade teacher thought he had talent, Jeremy only went along with it because his son was chubby and there was a lot of money in the NFL. "You let a teenager work you. What does he know? If he was my kid, I would'a-"

 _Bang_.


	46. Minefield

_A/N: What can I say? Not much except thanks for reading and thanks to all of you I'm now in saga-writing mode again._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 46: Minefield

 _Saturday 26_ _th_ _November, 1.53am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

 _If he was my kid, I would'a-_

 _Bang._

 _If he was my kid, I would'a-_

 _Bang._

 _If he was my kid, I would'a-_

 _Bang._

Paul wanted nothing more than to shoot his father and rid his life of him for good. And Jeremy knew it. He saw the hatred and determination in his son's eyes, after all those years of telling him to have a backbone and speak up for himself and man up and stop crying and stop acting like a little girl; he finally did it. Jeremy so believed that bullet had his name on it he froze on the spot, lost bladder control, and flinched. The bullet pierced the wall, landing in the non-existent petal of the wood cut-out sunflower clock from Gina's old condo, and Jeremy felt the humiliation of urine running down his leg and betrayal of the highest order.

The baseball bat dropped to the floor as Gina saw the wreckage of every glass and almost every plate broken and smashed with pieces of crockery and glass on every surface and all over the floor. Though she ran downstairs after she heard the gunshot because she didn't want to lose Paul to death or the system, but the mess Jeremy made told her he had to go immediately before she lost her man to a mental facility. The police sirens wailing in the distance echoed the urgency of getting Jeremy out of their home, city and state as soon as possible. "Paul." Her voice called him out of his reverie, where Jeremy the tormentor was no more.

"Gotta clean up this mess." Paul said robotically, as though he'd done it before.

She nodded and opened her hand. "Gimme the gun."

 _2.33am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Cleaning put Paul in an escapist trance and gave him purpose; to clean up the mess and put things in their place. Jeremy's exit was the complete opposite of his arrival; he left wordlessly with a fistful of money. It was the last time father and son would see each other again in that lifetime and there was no resolution or happy ending for them. To ensure that he left the state on the first plane flying, Gina drove him to LaGuardia in Paul's truck. And he cleaned. He cleaned up so much mess he finally understood how crap it felt to be on his knees; to be the one charged with putting things back together again. But when it came to firing at his father, he felt no guilt, in fact; it was one of the most satisfying experiences of his life. And when he was done, he noticed the dried blood on his hand from where he'd cut himself and if it scarred; it would serve as a reminder of the day he cut the ties that bound him to his horrid childhood and his father. Fixing things with Taylor wouldn't be so easy.

 _10.04am, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

New York had a calming effect on Reggie because he didn't feel the pressure to perform on the football field or with the girls, especially the one who was giving him the cold shoulder. The lazy Saturday at Evelyn's didn't suit him as he was restless from missing workouts and the guilt of the locker room tantrum he threw before their last game. Gregory was already awake and though he wasn't teaching music that day, he sensed another youngblood might need his assistance. "'Morning Mr G."

Gregory smiled, because his stomach growled along with his greeting. "'Morning Reggie. You're right on time for breakfast."

He couldn't see any food and assumed that meant cereal. "Yeah?"

"Of course. There are enough eggs and mushrooms for an omelette."

Reggie didn't mind cooking if the pay-off was worth it. "Cool."

"You know, you remind me of someone I used to know."

"Really?" Reggie asked while going through the fridge.

Gregory fried some turkey bacon rashers. "Yes, a young man back home who loved the ladies. And the ladies loved him."

Reggie liked this story and started beating a half-dozen eggs. "For real?"

"Yes, so much so, his first wife caught him with one of his…admirers and left for the U.K. with their children."

Reggie looked up from the mixing bowl with his mouth wide open with shock. "The U.K.?"

"Yes. She called it 'starting all over'. The cheese grater's in the top cupboard to your left."

"Thanks. So what'd he do next?"

"Cried, mainly. A lot of pacing up and down the empty house. But he got it together some years later. Found the Lord, met a nice woman, an accountant, tried to do things the right way."

Reggie grated half a block of cheese in no time because he was good with his hands. "So they got married?"

"Yes. Had a son and a daughter and things were swell for 8 years."

"Then he stepped out again?"

"No." Gregory cleared his throat and put the kettle on. "She died suddenly, the children were still young so he raised them on his own, despite some generous offers."

Reggie didn't know any single dads, or many dads at all. Most of his childhood friends were raised by single moms so he didn't feel as left out until college where most of his teammates parents were always in the stands, somethings with siblings, cheering them on. "How'd he do it?"

"Raise them? With a lot of mess-ups and laughter. They turned out alright, I suppose. Made it to 18 with all their limbs intact."

"I don't get it. Why didn't he just marry someone new?"

Gregory smiled at how much he had to learn. "Because he wasn't looking for a mother for his children. He was looking for love. Us men don't realise it at first. See, women know they need love like they need air and water. And you show them you love them with respect and thought and _faithfulness_."

"That sounds like work." Reggie replied. _Too much work for me_.

"It is. It's also called: being a man."

He'd never thought about it that way. "So, what happened to your friend?"

"Well, he matured. Ended up with five children and nine-and-a-half grandkids on three different continents…and an overzealous wife who bakes a _mean_ coconut cake." He patted him on the back. "You'll get there one day, Reggie. We all do."

"How'd you know for sure?"

"Because you have the gift of foresight; you already know how this story ends." When Gregory was satisfied he'd made his point, they got back to the matter at hand. "Now, see if you can find baking powder and vanilla essence."

Reggie would be scratching his head over that story for months. "For what?

"Pancakes. Women like _breakfast_ , too. Breakfast and compliments."

"You got style, Mr G."

"I try, _youngblood_."

 _1.47pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Besides the grey L-shaped sofa, coffee table and fully-loaded kitchen (with the christened kitchen island) Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols didn't have much furniture. The custom 8-foot-wide bed was still being made by an out-of-town carpenter because John liked rustic, wooden things but it didn't look like their home because two crucial things were missing. "We should move in." Joss said randomly as she picked a lint ball out of his hair.

John was so engrossed in the latest intel from Shaw about a jilted fiancée on the war path and her plans to throw the enraged woman in the backseat of her car for a joyride just to spite Finch that he missed it. "What'd you say?"

"Let's move in. Like…today." She could barely believe the words were coming out of her own mouth, but they were and there was no dread turning her stomach upside down.

"Today?" He asked, almost dropping the tablet in shock.

"Today." She said, resolutely. "Unless you're scared?"

"I'm never scared." That wasn't entirely true; the only thing John feared was a fatal bullet with Joss' name on it.

"So, when are we getting the rest of my stuff?"


	47. Misbehave

A/N: Enjoy your weekend!

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 47: Misbehave

 _Saturday 26_ _th_ _November, 8.39pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Gregory spotted Paul's dark grey truck across the street again but at least this time he buzzed upstairs and asked to see his son. Taylor had been tight-lipped all weekend, and Gregory wasn't the type to push, but when he agreed to join his cousin at the gym for a two-hour workout that afternoon it was clear he was feeling stressed. The hand wringing was replaced by had shaking and Paul suppressed the tremors in his hands by gripping his arms. After all, he was still shocked by the events in the early hours of the morning, and with Gina waiting in the truck downstairs with a new set of plates and glasses in the trunk; it was clear he had some business to take care of.

"Hello Paul." Evelyn said with an uncharacteristic neutrality, wondering what he or Jeremy had done to have him at her house looking sheepish and what he was doing with a bandage on his left hand.

He nodded. "Evelyn."

"How about you and Taylor use the spare room?" Gregory offered, eliminating his wife's opportunity to pry or eavesdrop. "Mind the double bass, I'm keeping it for a friend."

"Thanks." Paul's bloodshot eyes barely met with either of theirs.

Taylor unfolded two stools for them to sit on and had trouble looking as his father. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation, or much of a conversation at all, because he wasn't in the mood to talk. At Gina's urging to say something Paul didn't mind going first, especially since most women would've run for the hills already and he knew he had to honour the promise he would make it right. Whatever that meant and whatever it took. "He's gone…back to VA."

"Okay." Taylor felt numb to his grandfather's departure, neither happy nor sad, just indifferent.

Paul's foot was tapping and he tried to control his breathing. "Taylor I, I do care about you. More than anyone else in my life." Though his son would never know it; it was only because of him that Jeremy was still alive because killing him, and the lengthy sentence that would've followed, would've separated them forever. "I signed over my half to you because I wanted to leave you with something. I didn't think about what else that came with." In his heart and his conscience, Taylor knew the right thing to do was forgive but he couldn't at that time. He could barely talk to him. "But I didn't set you up, not intentionally, I'd never do that to you."

Taylor shook his head. "I can't do it. I can't pretend it doesn't bother me just to make you feel better. You were right there and you could've…but you didn't. And that makes it worse."

Paul knew he let his son down but for the first time he could hear the words from his mouth, see the disappointment on his face and feel his son's pain when usually this was left to Joss to deal with. And to make it worse he was probably going to end up on the phone to her that night, offloading his emotions. Maybe even with John. "I'm sorry. And I'm not gonna stop trying. I'll call you tomorrow." Taylor nodded but he just wanted him gone.

 _10.46pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

As luck would have it, John wasn't much help getting Joss' stuff when he got a call to stop an organised 'bum fight'; a paid fight between homeless men in exchange for money and booze. It could've gone badly if John hadn't arrived in time to stop a homeless Army veteran from being stabbed but it got even worse when the organiser's ass met John's motorcycle boots and the hero in leather broke his arm, his smartphone and his camera. The 'bums' in question were currently staying at the Newbury Hotel at their exploiter's expense. All Joss could fit in her car was the memory foam sex pillow for her back, her CD and DVD collection, some blankets and a few boxes of clothes and shoes.

With John's buttery steak cooked medium rare and her greens and sweet potatoes they finally got around to dinner at the kitchen island. The brand new light grey leather bar stools were on sale at Rigby's and she figured she might as well start buying furniture. If there was one thing John noticed, it was red wine always made her misbehave. It went straight to her head, unlike the brown liquor she could sip all night and remain lucid enough for Scrabble, and she started to lose her inhibitions. First came the giggles, then the random story, then the proposition and then adventurous Joss came out to play. "This is good, gooooood. Mmm." The steak went down better than ever, with a glass a Shiraz. She giggled. "You know what I was thinking?"

"No. What?"

She bit her lip. "I was thinking you never did end up in my backseat in handcuffs. Shame." She giggled again as though she was back in the sorority house and he was her confidant in royal blue and white. "We could've had some fun."

Those blue eyes shone with possibility and interest. "Really? No time like the present."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

Suddenly she lost her appetite and her decorum. Adventurous Joss didn't waste any time taking off her loose sweater, bra and leggings, but she took her time with each button on his shirt, gently unbuckled his belt and pulled it so it slid through each loop, until it became an inanimate snake on the floor. John had several plans for the thong she was wearing, none of which he had the space to act on because she cut off his mental capacity with her bewitching hand down his pants. From the waist up they made out like teenagers nearing curfew, but her knowing hand stroked him into blind stupor. John fought to exercising the control of a gentleman, that the lady always comes first. But Joss didn't care, with the Shiraz cooking her brain and her fire surely stoked, she had every intention of making John weak enough to crumble. In fact, she wanted him so spent he walked out bow-legged.

Adventurous Joss made him competitive because a true alpha could not – under any circumstances – be dominated and just like that, the leather bar stool became a battle ground where John made the first strike, pulling her thong to the side, pinning her arms and hands down on the kitchen island she asked for and banging her like a random broad he met at a bar. If there was a bet going for who would cave in first, he bet on the hot black woman with jasmine and some other intoxicating scent in her hair. She had other ideas.

 _11.27pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Taylor saw the D.O.M.S. in his near future because their trip to the gym took it out of every muscle in his body. It surprised him how Reggie could do treadmill sprints and lift weights five times a week, play football and still keep his grades up, and have the energy to chase girls. But this guy wasn't loud-mouthed, drunk Reggie "da Champ" DuChamp, this was chillaxed Reggie in the City who lost two games of scrabble to Gregory, loaded the dishwasher an hour ago, and stole his pillow for 'extra neck support'. It never crossed Taylor mind until then that he hadn't taken or uploaded a selfie all weekend. "How'd you stay with a girl who won't give any?"

Taylor wouldn't dream of revealing Zahra's secrets, like how she could be hot and almost-ready one minute and cold and flinching the next, because that was private. Instead he just shrugged his shoulders. "You'd get it if you knew her."

Reggie played with a Rubix cube with no plans to solve it; his brain was more suited to business models and historical accounts than puzzles. "What if it never happens? I mean _never_. Then what?"

"I don't know." Taylor made his blow-up bed on the floor because the small double wasn't big enough for two.

"And you're okay with that?" Taylor gave him the side-eye because Reggie liked to clown him. "I'm serious."

Taylor took the philosophical approach. "Let's say that, hypothetically, I love her. Would sex make me love her more if I love her without it? I don't know."

Reggie sighed with the weight of a man whose calls went straight to voicemail. "Aleesha hit me with the Pisces cut-off."

"The what?"

"You know, Pisces, they don't dump you or curse you out or key your car…they just cut you off."

Taylor had the feeling he wasn't just talking about sex and Alijah and Ebony might have had something to do with it. "Girls talk. If you're a jerk, they hate you. Then they tell their friends you're a jerk, and _they_ hate you. And then the only girls left are girls who don't mind you're a jerk. And they're the ones having sex with you."

That was a revelation to Reggie's big eyes. He had to admit the chase had been harder than usual lately, and sometimes girls whispered around him but he never heard what they were saying. And the last time he saw Ebony and Alijah, when Aleesha wouldn't let him in to the kickback; they looked at him like he'd encountered a skunk before he got there. "So _that's_ why!"

"Yep."

" _Man_. No wonder Levine's a virgin. Levine, _Safety_." Reggie reminded him of his position.

"Oh. Really?"

"Yeah he's _Tim Tebowing_ 'til marriage." Taylor held back his laughter; at the phrase, not the decision. At least his cousin was thinking. "Did you know Mr G was a _savage_ back in the day?"

Taylor nodded as he'd Skyped with some of his grandkids and they had different accents; British, American and Trini. "Yep. Hard to imagine it, huh?"

Reggie looks him up and down with suspicion. "You really love that girl." Again, he didn't deny it and waited to be called Russell Wilson again. But he wasn't. " _Man_." Reggie exclaimed, before going to sleep, snoring loudly.

 _11.51pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Joss put up a good fight, her trick with the berries almost made John tap out. Almost. She forgot John Something Lastname was the man in the birthday suit and socks and wouldn't be outdone more than once. John picked a bundle of Joss up off the floor and placed her on the L shaped sofa, wishing their bed could arrive tomorrow. She looked peaceful as she slept, knocked out from John's personal World of Warcraft. And for a night things seemed mellow.


	48. MD

_A/N: I've been working a LOT lately, but this came together in the early hours of the morning._

 _Thank you all for sticking around, I really appreciate it. Since we have a saga on our hands, I'll say I don't leave loose threads - it'll all make sense eventually._

 _Random fact: The chapter title comes from Alanis Morrisette's Not the Doctor._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 48: M.D.

 _Wednesday 30_ _th_ _November, 10.31am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

John's wise friend had just brewed a fresh pot of flowering tea, it was a gift from an attractive pregnant woman he had secret weekly suppers with at a French restaurant in town. Since Zoe Morgan was persona no grata in Dexter's Lab, he neglected to mention it to the Team, especially since Shaw was hardly compassionate, Reese had his hands full with his wife and Bear still sniffed the sofa where Scout used to sleep. "Good morning, Mr Reese." He said, cheerily.

"Finch." John greeted, still irritated that their custom-made 8-foot-wide bed wouldn't arrive for the next two weeks no matter how much money he bribed them with.

"Is there a reason why you were in Elmhurst last night?" Finch inquired, observing the flowering mini rose in his teacup.

Ever since Taylor left on Sunday, refusing to explain why his grandfather left so soon or what was bothering him, John had been teetering on the edge of knocking Paul's door down to find out the truth. "So I'm busted. Is that what this is?"

"No, it's more of a pre-intervention. I hope you don't intend to engage Mr Carter because I have credible intel that the likelihood of violence is 55%."

"Just 55?" John half-joked, thinking the Machine must have been off its game.

"May I ask why you were in the area?" Finch prodded, marking the word "Igneous" in his crossword puzzle.

"Something's up with Taylor and he won't tell me or Joss or Greg or the Queen Mother what happened. All I know is Paul knows. And _I_ need to know. As in yesterday."

Telling his employee to be patient wasn't an option. "I recommend that you don't antagonise Mr Carter."

"Why? You know something I don't?

Finch tried to talk him off the ledge with reason. "Biology says no matter what; Taylor will side with his father. And considering you've made great headway in your relationship, I wouldn't like to see that undone by unnecessary conflict."

John didn't want to consider if that was true so he changed the subject. "I'm guessing we've got a new customer."

"Of course, and this assignment requires a change in uniform." John went to his suit closet and found a freshly steamed white coat hanging. " _Dr Mark Jessops, General Practitioner?_ " He read the ID card in the right pocket. "Why me, not Shaw?"

Finch smiled, he was too polite to say her bedside manner was better suited to a circus animal trainer than an attending physician. "Have you heard of Cyrano de Bergerac?"

 _1.53pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

After encountering Jeremy and being disappointed by his father, Taylor felt there was no-one else in his family he could talk to besides Reggie. If he told John, his mom would know in seconds telepathically and do something explosive, and it was the same with Gregory. Offloading to Zahra gave him great relief, especially when she put her odd spin on the situation with the curve ball statement. "I think it's sad he'll probably die alone." Though it was isolating to feel cut off from both his grandfathers, by death and assholery, at least he had Gregory's gems which proved to be priceless as Taylor found that being a man often meant doing things he didn't want to do because they were right. On the other side of the room was Brock who had struggled to look him in the eye until that afternoon. But for the first time in weeks he greeted Zahra. "Hi."

"Hi?" Zahra said with suspicion, noticing the grey bags under his eyes were fading.

Taylor noticed he still wasn't using her name but at least his aura was less jerklike. Brock cleared his throat. "Ummm…thanks…for the…thing. The thing you did."

"Don't mention it." Taylor didn't know where things stood with Brock and the cult but he knew he didn't have any friends outside it and couldn't have it on his conscience if did something stupid. More stupid than joining a cult, almost flunking out and giving them all his money.

The silence was more awkward than usual. "We're gonna get Thai food, want some?" Taylor offered, giving his roommate a lifeline and his girlfriend a way out.

Brock had never eaten Thai food before but he figured it had to beat noodles. "Yeah."

 _6.46pm, Tom's Diner, New York_

From knowing Paul since 1988, Joss knew his hand-wringing meant his anxiety was getting the better of him again and although his father had abruptly left town the weekend before, it seemed that Jeremy had cast his shadow over their lives. He was on edge, sitting with the fire escape in his sights, rhythmically tapping his foot on the floor. Gina insisted that he saw Joss before his weekly session with Susan because he was becoming more clingy and difficult to live with. The reason why Paul took to this idea wasn't because coming clean was the first step in repairing his relationship with his son but because there was a certain fix he got from being around his first (and only) wife, the same fix he was craving when he showed up unexpectedly in the past.

If he had been more open with Susan, Paul would have known years ago that at the age of 19 he formed an anxious relationship with a green, fresh-off-the-military-base, good girl and he had been living that out ever since. But he didn't want to do that, because that meant going to the root of his relationship with his mother Nicole and the thought of that killed him. "How're you doing?" Joss asked, while on her break between two shifts.

"Here, there." He replied, looking into her eyes and finding genuine concern for their son. "You want something to eat, drink?"

She shook her head. "You wanted to talk."

"Yeah. So umm…" Paul explained what took place with Jeremy, and as she learnt over a decade ago in her military training on "Effective Questioning"; Joss tried her best not to react or confront him, and to treat her subject with respect even when he'd really blown it this time. Usually she would have been filled with sympathy for what he was going through and how it was affecting him but today all she could see was a man who passed the buck at their son's expense, diminishing her respect for him. "I've been trying to get through to Taylor and we talk, but he doesn't get why I did what I did. I never meant to hurt him." _You never meant to, but you did_. Joss couldn't distinguish if she was thinking of herself, her son or both of them; the original casualties in Paul's War. "You believe me, don't you? I mean, you know me, right?"

Those eyes weren't blue but they got to her in a different way because she knew that look anywhere. When she was young and inexperienced, she thought it meant he was sorry and worth forgiving, a few years in she thought it was the look of responsibility because they were growing up together and maturing, but today as a grown woman she knew what it meant. And why she couldn't go along with it and enable him once more because doing so got them here in the first place. There was a lump forming in her throat she forced words over. "I don't know everything that happened, but I do know you wouldn't intentionally hurt our son." He nodded but the relief was just temporary because she cut the cord with her next sentence. "But you did."

"Joss-"

She cut him off with the slightest raise of her hand. "And you won't stop unless I stop doing this for you. I can't. Paul, I can't do it anymore."

"Joss…" He pleaded.

And it all came back; every time her sorors fielded his calls because she was better off without him, the nameless guy who bought her lunch when she wrote for Milton's newspaper, the four unhappy encounters with Jeremy when he didn't stand up for her, the apologetic look in Nicole's eyes every time they drove away and left her with her husband, the secret conversations she shared with her ex-mother-in-law about Paul's insecurities and why he needed her, the day he was deployed, the day he came home, the Christmas he ruined, the constant fear of living with a suicidal man, the relief of a new home with her son, the day he walked back into their lives…

So many red flags. And then there was John, in her peripheral vision, always there, waiting for her call, with a protective love she could take refuge in. The two worlds didn't match and she could only be one woman. "I want you out of my life."

Seven words gathered Jeremy's shards of glass, glued them together and struck him in the heart. Never before had she said those words; not even in divorce which felt like death. It didn't matter if he called her name a million times, those words couldn't be undone.

"Taylor's not a kid anymore. And I, I just can't…"

The truth came down as hard as a judge's gavel. And it was done.


	49. Motormouth

A/N: Did Joss hit Paul with the Pisces cut-off? Is that 8-foot-wide bed ever coming?

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 49: Motormouth

 _Thursday 1_ _st_ _December 2016, 6.41am,_ _Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

After a night shift as a G.P., with Shaw giving medical advice in his left ear and insults in his left, John was happy to take off his white coat and stop committing medical fraud for long enough to hear about Joss' second shift and what happened prior. On any other day, the news she had cut off Paul like a septic limb would've been music to his ears but John wasn't happy it took Taylor's suffering to make it happen even though he understood why the grasshopper wouldn't confide in him. Joss was clearly tired from work and years of propping up a grown man and because he was her doctor, he understood the best way to support Taylor from afar was to take care of his mom. "Everything's gonna be alright." John's words were a comfort and she believed them. "Trust me, I'm a Doctor."

"Get outta here." She tutted and folded his white coat over a lounge chair that matched the sofa where they slept. "John, why do you love me?" She asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why are you asking?" The redness in her eyes suggested why. "I meant, you already know."

"That's not an answer."

The Joss he knew wouldn't have asked unless she needed to hear it. He took off his shirt. "I love you because of who we are together, to each other. I love you because you always try to do right and 'cause I'd be stupid not to. And for some reason, you love me." She seemed satisfied with his answer, playfully slapping him on the chest. Her eyes said she was too tired for sex and needed rest. "Why are you asking?" He repeated because he thought she was sure. Maybe not sure enough.

 _"I love you 'cause no-one's got my back like you, Joss…"_

 _"I love you 'cause you're always there for me…"_

 _"I love you 'cause I know you'd never..."_

 _"I love you 'cause you always…"_

 _"I love you 'cause you're my girl…"_

It was only in hindsight that Joss could see the decades of a selfish love and its residual effects, and the part she played in it. Unsure of whether she should be mad at herself or saddened by it, she accepted that it just _was_. There was no way of going back to demand the love she deserved, Cal was gone before she could accept the love he had to offer; but this was her chance enjoy a reciprocal love with a man who would bear the weight so she didn't have to. "I shouldn't have." She yawned, proving that his first instinct was right and once again they made their bed on the sofa, together.

 _3.04pm, Holey Donuts, New York_

Against her husband's advice, Evelyn stole a few minutes of Joss' time at the donut shop near the Precinct. Having found herself on the outside looking in because her daughter and grandson wouldn't tell her what was going on and all Naomi had to reveal was Joss wasn't very talkative when she came in for a quick co-wash and blow dry. Everyone knew Jeremy was somewhere in Virginia, grunting and stewing if she remembered correctly, but it wasn't fair for them to conspire together in silence as though they had the right to. Joss ordered a black coffee with cream and some cinnamon donut holes and milky tea for her mother but was just as short on words as Janelle said.

"I have an interview at 4." She told her, which meant she was interviewing a witness.

"I see." Evelyn sat back in her seat so she'd have a full view of her daughter's body language. It was guarded; from her interlocked fingers to her crossed ankles. _What's she got to hide?_ "How've you all been?"

"Fine. You? Mr Greg?"

Evelyn smiled. " _Blessed_. You can tell me anything…" She said in that same tone she used to make her daughter snitch on herself. "Like what Jeremy did to upset my baby."

It wasn't the day for prying not with Joss already on edge from her upcoming interview with a 9-year-old child who may or may not have witnessed her aunt's murder. Noguerra may have been messing with her less, but that didn't make the task at hand any easier. "He went home and I don't want to talk about it."

Evelyn wasn't used to the pushback so she pushed harder, and it wasn't the day for that either. "What concerns Taylor concerns me _and_ you, Jocelyn. We're on the same side here. I just want to know so I'm informed and I can help."

Joss inhaled and exhaled through her nose just enough times to curb her tongue somewhat. "You know I wish for _once_ you'd respect when I ask you to stay out of it. I don't _need_ any more help."

Evelyn heard; " _Back up! Back up! Miiiiiiind ya bizness, that's all, just miiiiiiiiiind ya bizness_." Or maybe it was all those _Fresh Prince_ reruns she loved, either way the Queen Mother was taken aback and almost speechless. She swallowed and waited for an apology that wasn't forthcoming. The tense silence was having an unexpected effect; Evelyn started to feel that she might have possibly overstepped just a little bit, which wasn't her fault. But the silence continued doing its work on her and after five minutes she felt a teensy-weensy bit responsible.

Joss still wasn't in the talking mood but she managed to say something before paying and heading back to work, "I know you care, but John's got it under control." And like the day a billionaire usurped her wedding powers the moment his helicopter touched down in Summerville, Evelyn felt deposed by the man she had worked so hard to make a part of their family. The donut holes didn't taste as sweet, so she had six of them to compensate.

 _7.40pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

Susan knew the moment Paul walked in her office having missed a session due to the holiday that something had shifted in his life. Instead of the nervous movements of his hands and feet, all of his tension was in his jaw, neck and shoulders; his jaw was clenched, his shoulders were raised and his neck was hidden underneath a turtleneck sweater. He usually hid his cross against his skin but that day he was wearing it around his neck. She didn't miss that symbol either. "How were the holidays, Paul?"

"My dad busted in on Evelyn's dinner and tried to make my son sign over his half of the house." She wrote some quick notes and looked at his face unable to read it because it was void of emotion. "Only, Taylor thought I set him up, got mad at me and left. And when Jeremy heard he wasn't signed he destroyed our kitchen." She nodded, relieved that the large band-aid on his hand could have come from something other than self-harming. "So, he left and now Joss wants nothing to do with me…and my son's still mad."

"How do you feel about what your father did?"

"It's just like him." He said dismissively. "And that's what I was trying to keep Taylor away from all these years."

She noticed a discrepancy in his reasoning. "Who did Taylor's half of the house belong to prior?"

Paul cleared his throat. "Me. My mom left it to me."

She nodded and changed subject. "How do you feel about your father leaving?"

"Great." He said with no guilt because it was the truth, without the part about the gun.

"And your son?"

He sighed. "I wanna get back to how it was. Don't know how, but that's what I want."

"And how do you feel about Joss' response?"

 _Like there's no coming back from that._

 _Like I miss her._

 _Like I just lost my best friend._

 _Like a part of me just died._

"Crap." He replied. "I don't wanna talk about her."

"You mentioned her." Susan pointed out. "It may be worth exploring why you mentioned it."

"I already know why." Susan sensed another out-counsellor-the-counsellor moment coming. "You're gonna say it's about love; that Jeremy can't love anyone without hurting them 'cause he was never loved, that I love Taylor more than anyone and that's why it's getting to me and the reason why I'm stuck on Joss is 'cause I love her. That's obvious. I still love her, never stopped, now can you help me fix things with my son or not? 'Cause that looks like the only one I still have a chance at."


	50. Maverick

_A/N: Date night! For everyone except Careese of course :D (BTW I've only written one and it's Chapter 50 of Body Count)_

 _Credit to **opheliablack** for the M Word "Maverick". #RidetheMaverick_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 50: Maverick

 _Friday 2_ _nd_ _December 2016, 8.41pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

For Jocelyn Hope Taylor-Carter-Nichols-Reese, it was one of those nights where everyone else in the world had plans; her husband was tasked with befriending a gastroenterologist who was their latest Number, her son was out with his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that she was no longer on speaking terms with his dad, and her partner was dog shopping at the local pound with Vonnie. Her only hope for company was a dark-haired misanthrope who didn't answer her calls and a Police Captain who still didn't trust her.

"Carter." He greeted, already on edge from the broken promise about being home two hours before. "What more do we know about the Morrows case?"

"Accidental murder during a home invasion robbery. The witness is the 7-year-old nephew who was found hiding under the bed. I suspect he's on the autistic spectrum so I think he should be treated with more consideration."

"Duly noted."

She couldn't read his tone but felt he was dismissing her so he could go home. "We have a duty of care to him, he's still a child who's gone through a traumatic experience. And if I'm right…"

He sighed, because she wasn't letting it go anytime soon. "Fine, I'll ask Laz to call the educational psychologist."

"Great." She noticed a new family portrait with Scout at the centre and smiled. "Nice dog, the kids must love him."

" _Her_." He corrected her, suspecting she knew more than she let on but lacking the evidence to prove it.

"Goodnight Captain." He nodded in response, still no closer to figuring her out and with no information to give the higher ups in their meetings, which meant he was failing at a simple task.

With her work tucked away for at least a night and an early Saturday hair appointment, Joss saw _A Diva's Christmas Carol_ and Thai food in her near future but her scowling friend had other plans.

 _8.49pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York_

Although Zoe hadn't eaten bread in years, when the caramelised French onion soup arrived she gleefully broke the roll with her hands and slathered butter on each side. Finch appreciated her growing appetite and glowing skin as she entered her second trimester with relief that the morning sickness was over. With Arjen the Dutch sperm donor thousands of miles away and Harold's artful conversation just across the table, she seemed to have found the perfect combination for getting through her pregnancy alone. What she hadn't given much thought to was life after childbirth, not that she cared that night.

"…The Manhattan Philharmonic Orchestra is playing on the Saturday before Christmas and I went to the liberty of arranging a balcony. I'd be honoured if you'd join me." Finch offered.

"Harold…I'd love to." Zoe wasn't used to men being thoughtful; fun, exciting and unpredictable but never thoughtful.

For a moment, Finch felt how it might have felt with Grace, but it would never taste that sweet nectar again, so Zoe Morgan was like saccharine, an artificial substitute.

 _9.29pm, The Keigler Bar, Park Slope, Brooklyn_

Although her banjo player with the magical hands was nowhere to be found that night, Shaw didn't mind sharing one of her haunts with Carter even if she'd missed her chance to curve a straight and narrow line. Because of the company, Shaw drank dark liquor instead of the Russian vodka she was used to but that didn't stop the shots from flowing as they played foosball. "Where'd you learn?" She asked, as Carter was leading 5-2.

"On the base. And Tay used to love foosball and air hockey _and_ pinball until he got too grown to be seen with me in public."

Shaw liked it when she talked about her cub because there was something unguarded and warm about her mama bear voice. "When was that?"

"6th grade." Joss downed another shot which could have been the cause of her openness. "That's when it got tough. It's hard being a single mom when your son hits puberty. It's hard period." Shaw had nothing to refer to or insightful to say so she said nothing. "I don't know how I'm gonna tell him I cut Paul off."

"Tell him you cut him off." Shaw said simply, sneaking in a goal because she was distracted. "Score!"

"Cheater, cheater, pumpkin-eater." They both laughed because it sounded so silly. "I don't know how to answer when he asks why."

Because Shaw never felt guilt she didn't realise what her friend was feeling. "Tell him you had enough. That's what I do when I cut 'em off. Or I just ghost, either way I find someone new."

Joss smiled because she saw what life was like on the other side and realised maybe she cared too much about what other people though and felt and that needed to change. "I never thought I'd say this; but maybe I should take a leaf outta your book."

With those words, Shaw thought if Joss "Hot AF" Carter took a leaf out of her book, all her dreams would come true at once.

 _11.48pm, Douglass Hall, Emory University_

At this point, it was routine; Taylor was ready to leave as soon as the ending credits to _Poetic Justice_ started running because his girlfriend would always ask him to go eventually. Zahra's roommate was out again and wouldn't be back until breakfast time because the pre-Med student never spent a Friday night at home. "Why are you leaving?" She asked, as he put on his jacket.

"Because." He said, not wanting to state the obvious.

"But what if I want you to stay?"

Although she felt comfortable uncovering her hair in his presence, it was obvious she wasn't ready to take her clothes off. "You don't."

"But…I do." Zahra said, making an otherwise statement sound bold and poignant.

He shook his head and said something that had been on his mind for weeks. "You…still flinch, sometimes. So…I should go." Zahra had never considered her mind and mouth could say one thing but her body would betray something different. But it was true and that made her want to wrap herself up in the tightest cocoon and retreat from the world. "Hey," He said, getting her attention as she's drifted off to a faraway place. "It's the worst fight scene ever but it's a pretty good movie."

"Yeah."


	51. Mellow

_A/N: This is for everyone who needed rest this weekend like their breath._

 _Credit to **songbird11** for the chapter title. Still collecting M words :D_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 51: Mellow

 _Saturday 3_ _rd_ _December, 11.39am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

John knew his wife was hungover because he knew her tells; she never overslept, much less with her clothes on and her mouth wide open, and that adorable staggered snoring he wanted to record so badly still made him laugh because Mrs John Harvey Nichols was a lightweight. And she needed eggs and hash browns for breakfast chased down with two painkillers and juice. "Morning." She yawned from the back of her throat and scratched her neck. "When'd you get in?"

"A couple hours after Shaw brought you home in a wheelbarrow." He smirked, handing her the juice and aspirin. "Shame I missed it. I heard you really put 'em away. And a box of hot wings."

Joss downed her meds and yawned again. "Why? I shoulda known better." Then she smiled because it reminded her of high jinks with her sorors. "Hell, it was worth it." She looked at the time on the oven clock timer. " _My appointment_." She groaned.

He took the tray of hash browns and waffles out of the oven. "Janelle said, come at four."

A wet, well-deserved and uncoordinated kiss was planted on and around his lips because hungover Joss was sloppy and courageous. So courageous, she called her son on speed dial before John could stop her. "Tay…how you doing hun?"

"Ma?" He thought she sounded so mellow she reminded him of the pot-smoking pacifist who sold green brownies guy down the hall. "Good, are you okay?"

"I'm _great_ , kid." Her pitch was so high he knew she was tipsy. "I wanted to talk to you about Christmas."

Taylor was confused. "You mean Thanksgiving?"

"No Tay, _Christmas_." She sat on the grey diner chair at the kitchen island and put her phone on loud speaker. "Dad told me about Jeremy and the house." She expected his silence because he hadn't mentioned it to her at all. Taylor didn't expect the next sentence to come out of her mouth that decade or ever. "And when he told me what he did, I realised I couldn't do it anymore. I thought I was helping, that I could help him…but I can't…so, we're not friends anymore. If you call it that."

Taylor was quiet, not because he was shocked but because he thought she would always try even when his dad didn't. "Are you okay?"

Joss was surprised by his question. "I'm good. It's a change, but I'm getting used to it. Why'd you ask?"

"'Cause you sound sad and you shouldn't be. Ma, you tried. Maybe too hard?" John felt that fuzzy feeling he couldn't name again, the same feeling that washed over him when Taylor hit a dangling paint bottle with a .22lr and specks of green went everywhere.

"I just wanted to make things better for you. Time, the time you lost…"

"Ma, things just… _are_. And Dad's gonna do whatever he wants anyway." He reassured her because he needed reassuring himself; that though he wanted to make things better for Zahra he couldn't make her feel safe in her own skin because he wasn't equipped to do so. He could love and care for her, however, in the ways he knew how, because that was all he could do.

"I hope you guys work it out, I really do. So about Christmas, I don't wanna see him so-"

Taylor hadn't giving much thought to his holiday plans beyond eating coconut cake and listening to Reggie's Time Square jokes about the ball drop at New Years'. "Ma, it's okay. Don't sweat it."

John rubbed the small of her back for support. "How's Zahra?"

"She's okay, still the same; up and down."

"I understand. If she ever wants to talk, there's a helpline. For you too." She reminded him because he needed to hear it.

"Ma, I'm covering for someone so I gotta go." He lied, because he didn't want to talk anymore.

"Okay Tay. Speak later?"

"Yeah."

Joss ate her breakfast on autopilot because she was worried about how her son was handling things, especially if he was as much like her as everyone said. Instead of fixing things, John cleaned up around her and let her eat in as much peace as she could muster. Focusing on a simple task helped him to manage his anger somewhat, as he was sure the next time he saw Paul Carter face-to-face it wouldn't be in the spirit of reconciliation; more like retribution because his wife wasn't the only one who had reached their limit.

 _12.07pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

For Brock, the Doomsday Hugh and the rest of R.U.M.M. always talked about came in the form of Sleurben's upcoming Calculus final exam which he had to get a B minus on just to stay on her course. Being on suspension from the oppressive group gave him clarity; he could finally see the big mess he'd made and the tall mountain to climb to fix it. He'd overhead Taylor's conversation with his mom but he wasn't interested in whatever his dad did; Brock had his eyes on Taylor's notes and finally had the guts to ask again. "Can I…please copy your notes? I can scan 'em, take pictures, whatever. Please." Taylor ignored him and started looking for his gym bag so he could relieve the tension. Brock continued to lead his case. "I shouldn't've stopped being friends, you don't know how it was, how…" The middle child in him felt like giving up because he couldn't shout loud enough, but in his mind, his future depended on it. "Okay. I was a jerk. And I'm sorry. I just wanna be a research scientist and the IICS: the _International Institute of Creationist Science._ That's why I came here in the first place. I don't get this stuff and I know you do. Taylor, _please_. I _need_ your help."

Taylor stuffed his running shoes in the bag. "No."

"Is it about Zahra? 'Cause I can apologise."

"Now you know her name?" The 'great to be a Gamecock' towel was the only clean one left and he wore it around in neck in place of a scarf. "You weren't an asshole 'cause Hugh made you do it; that's all you. And this thing with Sleurben; that's all you too. So deal with it…and stop _whining_."


	52. Milestone

A/N: This is for everyone who feels spread too thin.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 52: Milestone

 _Tuesday 6th December, 6.32pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

John never understood why she liked watching him work with his hands. But she did, even though the bed he was putting together wasn't 8-foot-wide for them; it was Taylor's. He declined her offers to help until she got the message the best thing she could do was play some music and sit on a chocolate bean bag chair in the corner. So the self-titled _Van Hunt_ album was playing because _Whitesnake_ put her to sleep and he wasn't a fan of _Randy Crawford_. "What's this I hear about a breast exam, John?" He pretended he didn't hear her and plotted some way to get back at Shaw. "You know you hear me, and I thought feeling up your patients was off limits."

"I'm undercover." He smirked, amused by her acute jealousy.

"Keep it up and they'll find you _under a cover_ alright."

"You know, now would be a great time for a sandwich." He suggested, staring at Joss long enough for her to get the message.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But first, gimme 5 more minutes." It was easy to work under her attentive gaze because she wasn't judging his work; she enjoyed seeing a man do for her what she could do for herself – and what she couldn't – because it reminded her of her father and how safe he made her feel. Josiah was the first man in her life to bear the weight so it was truly ironic she'd go on to marry a man who left her holding the bag for over two decades. But John was doing the John thing – whatever it was – showing up and filling in the gaps and being a man and letting her be a woman.

 _"Oooooooh, ladies first, ladies first. Oooooooooooooooooh, ladies first, ladies first."_ Evelyn's ringtone was unmissable; Joss avoided looking at the screen because her mother was still waiting for an apology that wasn't coming this side of Judgement Day. John had never witnessed a standoff between mother and daughter; he assumed Joss always caved because he knew first-hand just how forceful the Queen Mother could be. _"Oooooooh, ladies first, ladies first. Oooooooooooooooooh, ladies first, ladies first."_

John bit the bullet and answered. "Evelyn, always a pleasure…you sound well…I'm great, just setting up house…Joss?" Joss shook her head and mouthed, ' _I'm not here._ ' "Joss feels like she's on a string." His reflexes were too quick for her mad grab for the phone. "…Because you want her to say sorry for something she shouldn't say sorry for…no, she didn't put me up to this…" Joss rubbed the spot between her eyes where a headache was forming. "What happened with _Paul_?" Her mother had excelled herself; if her daughter and grandson were keeping quiet, why not try the son-in law?

Joss held her hand out for the phone, though she appreciated his efforts it was a case of _my mama, my problem_. "Ma, we're not talking about him…ever." There was a harmonious sound on the other end of the line; the usual barrage of questions didn't come her way, there was silence. "See you on Sunday." John didn't know what to say. "So what'd you want on that sandwich?"

He stopped her from heading off to the kitchen. "Joss, I thought I was helping."

"I know, some things aren't that easy. Leave Ma to me." She smiled. "I have more experience."

 _7.53pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

The night before Sleurben's calculus exam – also known as Brock's day of reckoning – Hugh broke the terms of the 30-day suspension 21 days in and made contact because everyone knew it took 21 days to form a habit. The habit in this instance was being shunned. According to R.U.M.M. policies Brock was unaware of because he hadn't proved himself yet, this 'plea for moral reform' was a crucial stage in the development of any member and was designed to strengthen their commitment. Along with a promise that if he came back contrite all would be forgiven, Hugh 'strongly suggested' Brock rejoined his brothers through their _12 Days of Christmas_ outreach programme which meant skipping the holiday and the trip home to Jasper altogether.

Taylor missed that particular visit, and he wondered why Brock wasn't eating frozen burritos byt he box and burying his head in the book seeing as Sleurben had her foot on his neck. In desperation, Brock asked, "What'd you think I should do?"

Taylor could tell from the fear in his tone it was serious and he chose his words carefully. "Drop out."

"What?" Brock didn't know if he was referring to college or the group.

"Either way, you're gonna drop out. It's obvious." Taylor lay on the bed and through his stress ball in the air, playing catch by himself.

Brock was still in denial he could make it work somehow, despite the overwhelming evidence he couldn't. "You don't know that."

Taylor remembered his dad told him not to argue but he couldn't stand by and say nothing, so he took a page out of his mom's book with a leading statement; the same technique that usually made him snitch on himself. "If you go back you're gonna drop out like Hugh. And if you stay here…"

Brock could hear the foam ball hit the ceiling and couldn't take his eyes off it. "What'd you mean like Hugh?"

"What college did Hugh go to?" His question was met with silence; Hugh often talked about college communities as hotbeds of sin but Brock had never seen him near any literature that wasn't R.U.M.M. approved. "He dropped out; if he went in the first place."

Hugh nervously scratched his head and his face produced blotches of pink. "He knows things about me. Personal things."

"It doesn't matter."

"It _does_." Brock insisted.

Taylor thought if he was talking to him, that meant Brock was on the edge and could be tipped over, if he made an exchange. "What did you do? Look, it's not like I'm gonna tell your parents."

Brock took a deep breath. "My sister's best friend…Junior year."

"And? It's not a big deal."

"She was 14." Taylor ate his words. "So when I met Hugh and he talked about standards I got it; 'cause that's what I believe. Reminded me of home. Felt like home."

Taylor understood how he'd fallen in so deep so fast and why it was such a mess. "You know you can do that without flunking out, right? So, you can follow Hugh to Loserville and blow it for your _whole_ family or, you can copy these notes for tomorrow and figure out the whole standards thing later."

Brock looked down at the calc notes as though they were made of gold. It was tempting, so tempting. And so was approval. "But what if they kick me out for good?"

"I'll be at library." Taylor puts the notes in his backpack. _That's what I get for trying._ "Deuces."

It didn't take long for him to come to his senses, about long enough for the door to shut behind his roommate who Brock called a 'stumbling block to overcome like those sick thoughts about his sister's friend. "Taylor, wait…"

 _8.14pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

Traffic made Gina late. _So much for being supportive._ When Susan extended an invite to her because Paul said he wanted to improve the relationships he had left in his life, she accepted without thinking, but the drive from practice to the centre made her reconsider. Even after an abusive relationship at college and a divorce in her early thirties, the only counselling Gina had received was pouring her heart out to her best friend Lena. The room wasn't as clinical as she expected; the pale green walls and blue seating made it look like a contemporary office, warm enough and almost inviting. Almost. She took refuge in her green and silver Coach jacket, resting her cold hands in her pockets.

"Welcome, Gina. And thank you for coming." Susan greeted.

"Uhh, you're welcome?" Paul looked relieved to see her but that wouldn't last for long.

"I'd like to discuss your experience of staying with Paul and his father at the same time." Susan said, armed with a clipboard and pen that reminded Gina of being on her former Dean's _list_ ; which wasn't a sign of academic achievement.

"Me?" Gina asked. She thought being supportive meant being there, not participating herself. "Uhhh, it was a challenge. For all of us." Susan nodded and made a note she wished she could read from across the room.

 _8.37pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

The sessions were short but it always surprised Paul how much they covered when he gave it effort instead of ducking Susan's questions because he didn't want to engage fully and let down his walls; walls he didn't know anyone else was aware of until Gina proved how observant she really was. "…Now I've met him, I think Paul's hands-off with his son 'cause Jeremy was too hands-on with him." Paul had never heard that before, not from Gina or anyone else, and the pun was definitely intended. "Maybe that's why he signed over the house, to break ties. So I get how Taylor feels." She stopped talking to Susan and caught Paul's eye. "He doesn't care about why you did it, he wants you to acknowledge you were wrong for doing it. 'Cause you never gave him a choice. You could've asked first, if he wanted it in the first place, but you just dumped it on him. Like Jeremy did by showing up like that." Gina exhaled and locked her hands between her legs, all out of words for the evening, and feeling more tired than usual.


	53. Microscope

_A/N: The somewhat calm before the storm..._

 _Chapter title from **songbird11**._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 53: Microscope

 _Thursday 8_ _th_ _December, 3.05am, Turner House, Emory University_

Taylor knew that sniffling sound anywhere from the times his mom cried behind a locked bathroom door, like when Cal died, but those times were fewer and farther between with John around because he knew how to make her laugh like they were playing a secret game of puff-puff-pass. But these were the sniffles of his roommate in the wee hours of the morning, cutting off his sleep, so Taylor flicked on the lamp by his bed. "Come on, man; don't say Hugh's in your head again."

Brock shook his head. "I flunked."

"You don't know that, it was yesterday."

"I do." He replied resolutely. "I couldn't remember…just so much…" Brock exhaled deeply because his head was pounding. "I only wrote half."

Taylor ate his words yet again; there was no question Sleurben had an ugly flat boot reserved for kicking his ass off her course and probably all the way out the math department. "So what are you gonna do now?"

Brock shrugged his shoulders. "I can't win. If I join the Outreach programme, I can't go home for Christmas. If I go home for Christmas, my folks'll lose it. And I can't stay here 'cause I'm gonna lose my scholarship."

There were no sufficient words of comfort or consolation because the damage was already done, even if he dedicated as much time to studying as he did to a group that promised him friendship, fraternity and spiritual growth; Brock wouldn't be able to get back on track. It was unspoken but obvious; his best chance of forging ahead was to pack his bags, go home to Jasper, and start all over next year with spiritual guidance from a reliable source instead of a twenty-something megalomaniac who didn't know any more than he did. So Taylor flicked off the light and listened to Kendrick Lamar until he went back to sleep.

 _7.09am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Paul was still reeling from what he perceived to be a betrayal. When Susan asked if his partner could come along to a counselling session, he envisaged her rubbing his back or holding his hand while his counsellor made her pointed observations about why he did what he did when he did it. Instead, Gina launched a missile at him; attacking his parenting style and exposing Jeremy's tough man approach to raising him all in one fell swoop. He couldn't figure out if she knew he felt blind-sided or if she just didn't care. Either way, the question came out over breakfast. "Pass me the sugar."

"Why didn't you tell me what you thought about me?" He asked. "You could'a said it some other time."

Gina was puzzled. "Some other time than counselling? _Your_ counselling? That you invited me to? What better time was there?"

Paul didn't have an answer because it didn't matter. "You can't just say stuff about me and Jeremy; you weren't there, you don't know what happened."

"I know enough, 'cause you wear it everywhere you go. I guess I'm not getting any sugar this morning." She wasn't talking about affection; her rooibos tea was going cold.

"Wait, what? What'd you mean I wear it?" He asked, a bit too forcefully for her liking.

"Can you hear yourself snapping? 'Cause I don't do snapping."

Her glare was inescapable. "I'm sorry, I'm stressed."

"No, Paul. You're not _stressed_. You just don't want people telling you what you don't wanna hear. Not from women, anyways. And what's up with all the secrets? I don't have to _know_ what he did to you to _know_ he did something to you." She reached for the sugar and he was stunned because it was too early for these revelations.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head because she was exasperated and still felt unusually tired. "I mean it. I know you're trying to help me. And I know I need to fix that mess with Taylor. But Jeremy…I don't wanna talk about all that."

She stated the obvious. "There's no way around it. Can you take me to the doctor? I'm too tired to drive."

"Sure."

 _1.13pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Shaw was in a better mood than usual thanks to a banjo player and an assignment that actually used her medical know-how in action rather t`han diluting it down to the 5th grade instructions she gave John in his left ear when he talked to Dr Mark Jessops' patients. Back in Medical School, her research skills were well-known as was her keen eye when it came to identifying bacteria. During John's midnight break-in to their current Number's apartment, he found 800 pages of research and 5 folders of X-ray images. With _Joan Baez_ singing Shaw's personal anthem – It ain't me babe – on a loop, she was sure of what was going on and why Dr Vanessa Lockett's number came up. "It's Helicobacter pylori." She observed the blank expressions on Reese and Shaw's faces because they were clearly less intelligent than they looked. "Otherwise harmless bacteria in your stomach that can cause stomach ulcers by attacking the stomach lining. Instead of giving her patient antibiotics to kill the bacteria, she's giving him a placebo which backfired 'cause the chronic inflammation from the H. pylori infection is causing what looks like stomach cancer."

"Cancer?" Finch and Reese, or Laurel and Hardy as she liked to call them, asked in unison.

"Yep. Crazy bitch." That diagnosis was less of a medical opinion and more of a psychological one.

Finch knew not to argue. "So the violent crime in question is-"

"Murder." John finished his sentence. "Unless we stop her."

 _3.51pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

In the run-up to Christmas, Captain Noguerra had more on his mind than tree decorations and the perfect gift for his wife. At the top of his agenda was a troublesome Detective the higher-ups had decided was less dangerous within the NYPD than outside it, and although he didn't trust her he had no choice but to make a proposition. Carter refused his offer of a drink and every now and then her eyes would flit to the door which wasn't unusual for a veteran. He cleared his throat and said the words he was under strict orders to say. "We'd like to make you an offer…"


	54. Magnolia

_A/N: This is for_ **Bklyngrl** _who gets a kick out of Evelyn's full name and inspired the chapter title._

 _In the words of Bob Dylan, "Times they are a changin'"._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 54: Magnolia

 _Saturday 10_ _th_ _December, 2.25pm, Lucky's Diner, New York_

It had been years since they met at that diner and he gave her a black duffel bag of firearms for her – and his – protection, but today all they had to exchange were their troubles. Although John usually didn't eat in the field, the scent of Joss' buttery pancakes and sausage made him break his edict a little with a steak sandwich. The frown lines in her head were a small indicator of the conflict in her mind. After taking down HR 3 years prior, Joss had given up any chance of a promotion; others has surely broken the Blue Code, but Carter had obliterated it with a off-the-books career-suicide mission that could have taken their lives. John listened to her recount of Capt. Noguerra's offer – a Sergeant position to be confirmed by the end of January 2017 – and how it would affect Fusco; her partner and friend, and the only one she felt she could trust in the entire NYPD. From the dead doe to the Summerville surprise engagement-wedding fiasco to the failed intervention with Evelyn; John had taken enough Ls in 2016 to realise he couldn't fix things for his wife, even if he wanted to.

The pros of taking the position were obvious on paper; more money, more power and a shiny new badge. But the idea of not working with Fusco made her anxious, almost as anxious as letting an opportunity go by. Joss still didn't trust Noguerra as far as she could throw him and knew the offer came with strings attached, invisible strings. "I don't get what his angle is." She explained as best as she could. "Is he trying to rein me or something? I just don't know."

Those blue eyes shone with empathy. "If it wasn't coming from him, would you want it?"

"The promotion? Yeah. I mean, I worked for it and I don't have to worry about Taylor's school anymore." He was looking at her like that again; knowingly, and she didn't like it. "What?"

"You talked about Noguerra, you talked about Fusco, you talked about Taylor; but what about you?" He asked, making her feel guilty because her husband wasn't her first, second or third thought. "I'm okay with whatever you decide. Put yourself first. And if Fusco gives you any trouble, he'll be hearing from me."

John sounded eerily like her father when went of one of his rants about 'standing alone' and 'trusting her gut'. Josiah had revisited her in the form of a man who'd sullied the uniform as much as her father had honoured it and her decision was clear, telling her partner of 5 years wasn't. "Enough about me. What'd you find out about the good doctor?" She asked, since his shifts and hers often overlapped and he was still committing medical fraud on a daily basis.

He didn't want to overload her, especially with Christmas coming, all eyes on her at work, and Evelyn on her mind. "She's in trouble and she needs help."

Joss knew there was more to the story than he was telling but her phone was vibrating and her partner needed her. "If you need my help, John, call me." It wasn't a suggestion, but he treated it as one.

 _3.21pm, The Respect Recreational Center, Crown Heights, Brooklyn_

Evelyn was frustrated. Between coming up empty in her big fishing trip for information at Janelle's salon, and the encouragement from Gregory that the apology she was waiting for would feel better coming from her than to her, it had been a terrible week. And it was about to get worse; worse than Gregory's beginner's Piano class. The +803 area code on her phone came from Cece's house, but the voice on the other end of their line belonged to the last person she wanted to hear from.

"Magnolia." Camellia greeted, using the middle name she hated with a sickly-sweet tone as only an elder sister could do. "How've you all been?"

"Fine, Cammie. You?" Gregory instinctively headed to the vending machine when he heard her name.

" _Wonderful_. You know I was just talking to Carolyn and Junior and they said you all made plans and the funny thing is; no-one asked _me_." Evelyn rolled her eyes as the same voice that used to snitch on her, get her in trouble and make her miserable in general was about to railroad her Christmas plans. "So since Rosie's joining the boys at Aspen for Christmas – you know she loves showing off – and Tullie's taking care of Jane after that nasty fall – broken wrist or something – Hamilton and I would _love_ to spend Christmas in the Big City. It's been too long."

Evelyn sighed and asked God what she'd done to deserve this. "When are you coming?"

"The 23rd and we're flying."

She was mad – Madea mad – but she couldn't stop it. "We'll send a car."

"Fabulous." Cammie replied, because she was leading 1-0 in the Battle of Christmas '16. "And Maggie, I'm watching my sugar so try not to be so _heavy-handed_ with that coconut cake. Think of the waistline. Toodles." Evelyn didn't get a chance to ask whose waistline because the last time she checked Cammie was in the double digits and she wore a size 9 with some effort and a little hope, because Cammie hung up first. _2-0._

 _7.13pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

John wasn't used to seeing Harold without a collar, and the dark green cashmere sweater and grey slacks were a giveaway sign his casual attire was linked to a pregnant PR specialist. The weekly suppers at the French restaurant had progressed to theatre trips and, that evening, a concert. "I always felt Suzanne Vega's lyricism was underappreciated at the time. Square or octagonal?" Finch asked, opening an accessory box that contained half a million dollars in watches. "I don't want to be overdressed.

"Then skip the watch." John advised. "Dr Lockett's an iron woman. Doesn't give away as much as a hometown even after 3 drinks – which is her max by the way."

"I see. She has good reason to be a loner. Born in Glenview, Illinois in 1977. Her mother died at age 6. She was raised by her grandfather who died of stomach cancer in 1996 – she was 19. She has specialised in oncology since 2008." Finch rattled off trivia as he sprayed his soft brown suede shoes.

John had heard that information before. "Vanessa Lockett's killing her patient through medical malfeasance."

"Or, she's trying to cure cancer." Finch speculated.

"By creating it?"

"By creating the conditions for cancer to grow. Something like the Machine if you replace cancer with crime. Perhaps Dr Lockett thinks she's doing mankind a great service, and there, Mr. Reese, is your _in_." Finch admired his appearance in the mirror and adjusted his glasses.

John laughed. "You think I should appeal to her better nature?"

"I think you have more in common than you think. And surely you've picked up some advance questioning techniques from the soon-to-be _Sergeant_ Carter…Nichols…Reese."

John didn't appreciate his listening in on their somewhat-private-in-public conversation. "What does the Machine say about that?"

"On arrival? 72% probability of her taking the promotion. On departure? 67%."

John knew she was going to take it the moment the word 'offer' came from her lips; what he didn't know was how the appointment was going to affect things. It was clear a shift was on its way and that was something he couldn't control. "Great." He said with uncertainty.


	55. Medicine

_A/N: A short one before fictional Christmas. Oh and #sexytime!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 55: Medicine

 _Two weeks later, Friday 23_ _rd_ _December 2016, 3.44pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

 _Going back to Jasper, can't do it anymore._

 _Thanks for the ticket._

 _P.S. I ate your burrito. Brock._

The departure of Taylor's roommate was uneventful; Brock didn't stick around for the rest of finals to see the full extent of his failure or if his future at Emory was salvageable, and left by a note in the middle of the afternoon instead. And though some would say he shouldn't have, Taylor still felt guilty because he didn't help, which was why he was moping at his dad's house again. Paul was so surprised to see his son on his doorstep voluntarily that he wasn't concerned with why. Christmas had come early and no number of Gina's reminders that it was time to talk it out could dampen that belief. "So he left? Just like that?" Paul asked as he screwed a new adjustable TV bracket to the wall from the step-ladder.

"Yeah." Taylor said in a monotonous tone that gave his age away.

"Where's Jasper?"

"Arkansas."

"Can't save everybody." Paul said knowingly as he knew the guilt of leaving one or more behind from the field. "You gotta know when to save yourself." The silence that followed brought them back to that sore spot called Jeremy, and there was no more avoiding it. "I don't hate that house, Tay." Taylor would've been more convinced if his dad hadn't sped past it every time they went to Virginia. "It used to smell like pound cake… sometimes. My mama made the best pound cake, all that butter. She was good like that."

Paul never talked about his mother; not to Susan, never to his son, so that small disclosure made its mark on Taylor. "Dad?"

"What?"

"It's crooked. Maybe I should get up there..."

 _11.18pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

The day the custom-made 8-foot-wide bed arrived was unceremonious because neither John nor Joss were around for long enough to christen it. Between the promotion she was still on the fence about and the conundrum that was Dr Vanessa Lockett, they both had their hands full their respective day jobs. But as fate would have it, a successful stake -out with Fusco had produced the primary suspect in a semi-cold case from 5 months ago and Dr Lockett had left the research lab for a _Seinfeld_ marathon leaving John with no-one to watch for the night. The Detective had never been so happy to spark the ignition when she got a Unknown phone call and it wasn't Finch or Shaw on the other end. _If Christmas comes early; let it snow, let it snow, let it snow._

The Man in the Christmas socks was prepared as every good boy scout should be; the only way Finch could interrupt them was by hacking the Bluetooth on the microwave. With Taylor in Queens with his dad, Fusco and Shaw on call and Bear on guard for any intruders, John thought he had all the bases covered. He hadn't considered Joss being the biggest disruption to his plans; with nothing on her skin but sweat and jasmine lotion making the oysters and red wine forgettable.

"I've missed you, John…" She said, with her sultry tone sending his mind into a spin; she was winning and they hadn't even begun. His hair passed through her fingers like the bristles on a paintbrush. There was no kiss, just her nose brushing against his. Slight intimate touches that caught him off guard. Her gentleness still did that to him sometimes, disarmed him from taking her clothes off in a fury and making her submit until she tapped out like a WWE heel. That unnamed scent in her hair still got to him and there was no way he could go another year without finding out what it was. "Have you missed me too?"

John didn't answer rhetorical questions because he wasn't much of a talker, and if she wanted conversation she shouldn't have picked a time when he could barely breathe. He heard Shaw's voice in his head and agreed for once. " _What a tease_." But she was wrong, Joss was taking her time, enjoying the slow burn all the way down to her knees. And suddenly, deliberately and intentionally, the long-awaited bed moved further and further away from John's sight as she rolled her tongue back and forth across the tip. She was winning without trying or so he thought, when it wasn't a competition to begin with. It was in her nature to take him into her mouth with the same eagerness she took him into her body, giving substance to the season of giving. And giving. And giving...

The edges of that bed could have been as far and wide as the four corners of the Earth. John set her body aflame then doused it sweat like a glass of crushed ice and rum. Her mind was free so her body followed to climax and quivered on the comedown. And that rush was enough to dull their sense of sound, of his medical pager.


	56. Mending

A/N: Life happens, a lot of life - hence the delay.

As always, enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 56: Mending

 _Christmas Eve, Saturday 24_ _th_ _December 2016, 4.31am, Sunset Medical Clinic, Sunset Park, Brooklyn_

John cursed the 4 medical codes on his pager because the missed messages meant he had to head back to the hospital asap instead of spending the early hours of the morning inside his wife like he'd planned. Only mouthwash could take the taste of her from his mouth, as she stirred alone in a bed big enough for Shaq; ahead of her 6am alarm. The oysters went back in the freezer for another day and the red wine bottles were left unopened.

It was evident on his arrival that his supervisor was pissed at his tardiness but the downcast face of a nurse who cared for Dr Lockett's patient up to their demise was unmissable. "Jane?" John asked, knowing his bedside manner was the only thing he had going for him without Shaw feeding medical advice in his ear. "Can I get you some coffee?" He asked, even though the coffee machine in the break room had a 'Do not use' sign on it.

She sniffed and shook her head, trying hard not to produce any tears as her shift was due to end over four hours later. "I'm okay, Dr Jessops. Glad you're here, we were short-staffed last night."

"Call me Mark. Rough night?" He inquired, wondering what he had missed while he and Joss made love, embers and ashes.

"He's gone. Walter Reeves died an hour ago."

John forced a poker face of steel. Dr Lockett had killed the patient she was allegedly trying to cure and he needed to know how. "Cause of death?"

"Hematemesis." She shook her head. "What a terrible way to go."

If he remembered correctly, _heme_ meant blood, and Dr Lockett's patient must have died painfully. He echoed her sentiments and resolved to find Dr Lockett as soon as he could slip out of the hospital. "Truly."

 _8.41am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Gina was relieved to see her man and his son pass up on breakfast for an early morning workout because her doctor had advised she couldn't take any more stress. She kept the knowledge that the Carter men's drama sent her blood pressure skyrocketing to herself because she wanted to give Paul a chance to make it right instead of bailing on him because it was easy to do, that, and she was already invested in the outcome. Love was funny like that. With her dance team on hiatus for the holidays and the new flat screen TV mounted on the wall in time for Christmas, she assumed a semi-permanent spot on the sofa for an _In Living Color_ marathon. Though her doctor advised her to take a break from all communications and social media, she couldn't miss the +757 area code and number that left messages on her voicemail overnight – obviously from Paul's father in Norfolk, Virginia. That was another secret she kept close to her chest; that they were still on speaking terms. "Jeremy, how're you doing?" She greeted, well-aware that she was playing with fire. "I'm good…yeah, he's here…"

Maybe it was the half-empty Uptown apartment called Home that his mom had moved out of, or the cult that turned his roommate from an aspiring creationist researcher to a dropout in just three months, or the ambivalence he was feeling towards his girlfriend and his ex who was on his mind again, that caused Taylor to lose focus. Paul couldn't trust his son's vacant eyes to spot him properly especially when he gazed off into the distance between repetitions. "Hey." Paul said, snapping him out of it. "What's up with you? It's Bella again, huh?" Paul asked, matter-of-factly, getting out from under the barbell before Taylor did him harm.

"Nope." Taylor replied, as though the thought of walking a mile to her house in Corona hadn't crossed his mind.

"Zahra?" Paul knew it wasn't worth repeating himself the _girls ain't nothin' but trouble_ speech even though that kind of trouble was written all over his son.

"Maybe. I just…I don't know." Taylor couldn't finish his sentence just like he couldn't follow a thought through.

The bench made a decent enough seat for two. Paul didn't know what to say, especially since he was the one who encouraged his son to date other girls and get over Bella asap. _Say something…_ "Let her down easy."

"What does that mean?" Taylor asked.

The Isley Brothers came to mind. "If you don't love her don't tell her that, just be cool about breaking things off."

"I never said I wanted to break up with her." Taylor explained.

 _Dammit, where's Joss?_ "Oh. Well, I'm sure Zahra is a really nice girl, but you can't keep her hanging on if you're not into it anymore." _That's it, that made sense._ What Taylor couldn't admit was the prospect of not having sex for the foreseeable future and beyond didn't sit right with him, and though it wasn't Zahra's fault, he had concluded girls were cut in the name of culture to make them so terrified of sex, they'd avoid it for as long as was humanly possible. But the upside was his dad was trying and with Great Aunt Cammie and her takeover spirit staying in Williamsburg and the place he called home for the past ten years half-empty, Paul's place was the only home that was exactly the same as he left it months ago. "I already told you girls complicate things and here you are, all complicated. Let me guess, Bella's home."

Taylor stared at him with incredulity at how much he knew but had enough experience with his mom to know better than to ask how he knew; because that was an admission. "Err…can you spot me?" Paul laughed and shook his head at how much his son reminded him of his younger self, knowing that meant he wouldn't listen and had to learn the hard way.

 _2.11pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

With her shaky signature on the paperwork and her partner's blessing, Joss verbally accepted her promotion with bated breath. Captain Noguerra looked happy for once and she guessed the homemade Christmas cards from his children were the cause. He looked over her contract twice before inviting her to sit down on the other side of his cluttered desk. "So you're willing to take the test?"

Joss was confused, the multiple-choice exam was compulsory. "Yes, sir. I'm prepared."

He stared into her eyes. "I mean the drug test."

She nodded, thinking he was acting strange. "Of course. I don't use drugs." That was mostly true…if one didn't count getting high off John on the regular.

"Have you given any thought to our previous discussion? About working relationships?"

Joss took a long breath because she knew he was referring to Fusco, and that was a tie she had no desire to break whether they were officially still partners or not. "I understand the need to forge new relationships, but I'll never forget Fusco was my partner. Can't erase history. And you know we've been through some troubled times together."

"Indeed." His ominous tone suggested there were more troubled times ahead.

 _Christmas Day, Sunday 25_ _th_ _December 2016, 11.26am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

There was laughter. A kind of laughter Shaw wasn't used to hearing because eavesdropping on Finch's dates wasn't her style; she was more of a voyeur and they weren't interesting enough. But there she was; Zoe Morgan in her plump second-trimester glory, sharing a continental breakfast with Finch and joking in French. And there went her appetite.

 _3.21pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Evelyn Magnolia Willie-Mae Taylor-Clement was not a patient woman but even baby Jesus himself would've praised her efforts when it came to enduring her pernickety and unbearable elder sister Cammie especially without the backup of her allies. Her daughter was absently-present, setting the table as CeCe gave her the rundown of the misadventures in online dating she wasn't really listening to, and Taylor and Reggie were still recovering from the night before. John was late as usual and his tardiness prompted Cammie to coin the term "T. P. Time" or _Tall People Time_ as she tossed the pretentious tuna niçoise salad she made as a 'friendly' reminder to her sister to watch her waistline. Evelyn bit her tongue hard enough not to point out that her brother-in-law was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't spoken of either.

"Do you _have_ to make that cake?" Cammie asked, aging herself down to about 12 years old with her tone.

Evelyn figured she needed someone to control with her husband flaking on her again, like he did that summer. "Yes, Cammie. I make it _every_ year."

"Hmmm. And the sugar?"

Evelyn smiled as it was borderline diabetic. "Still the same."

"Fine, then I'll make Mama's pie."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Evelyn stated the obvious. " _Tullie's_ the one who makes Mama's pie and she's taking care of Jane right now so you can make the mac and cheese and stop acting like you run my kitchen."

Cammie rolled her eyes because New York was actually the last place she wanted to be with a dozen eggs on her face. She would never tell her barely-younger sister that Hamilton never missed his flight; the one he took was to the Bahamas with his former assistant, so she was in a fouler mood that usual, taking a dig at a sister who wasn't there to defend herself. " Taking _care_ of her alright."

"Come on, we knew since she was 10." Evelyn reasoned, sensing the cheap shot meant husband number 3 was due to become ex-husband number 3 in a matter of months.

" _I_ didn't."

"Of course not. Couldn't see past your nose then either. " Evelyn rebutted, pouring a large glass of wine. " Drink, Cammie."

"Why? It's not even five."

"'Cause we like each other better this way."

It was an offer she couldn't refuse; the wine, not the olive branch. And Cammie drank, until she became more tolerable and took the clips out of her hair. When she let her hair down, she looked more like their mother and it was endearing to see someone long buried come back to life. Cammie was still tight-lipped about her situation because she didn't do well with embarrassment or any other emotion than assaulted her public face. "Why'd you do it, Maggie?" She asked, uttering a childhood nickname she hadn't said in over forty years.

"Do what?" Evelyn asked, knowing the list of things she'd done to get back at her sister was longer that her left leg.

" _Cut_ my _hair_ in my _sleep._ " Cammie asked, giving her one of those glares Mama would give that was as good as any switch.

Evelyn laughed, because she couldn't take credit for that one. "That wasn't me. It was Rosie. Then Tullie hacked off the rest 'cause she didn't like your attitude. _Bossy_."

Cammie sighed and sat back in her chair, sipping away her thoughts. "Guess that makes sense. And Joe? Did you really have to go first?"

Evelyn licked her lips and said something she'd never admit to otherwise. "I didn't marry Joe just to beat you down the aisle and out the house. I did it so he'd have to come back for me. Now, let me check my cake…Jocelyn?"

She knew that look anywhere; something had come up, even on Christmas and her daughter was headed out the door. "I'll be back soon, I think…"


	57. Malfeasance

A/N: I appreciate you all for hanging in there, I'm not done with this there's just a lot going on atm.

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 57: Malfeasance

 _Christmas Day, Sunday 25_ _th_ _December 2016, 5.12pm, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn_

John couldn't help but feel bad that their first Christmas as a married couple wasn't spent under a mistletoe but in a Jeep under the street lights having an ethical debate up the street from Dr Lockett's condo. There wasn't time for Joss to read through the medical research so Shaw summarised the domino effect of treating her patient's H. Pylori infection with a placebo instead of antibiotics; Walter Reeves, 68, died after vomiting blood caused by his inflamed stomach ulcer which could have been avoided if he had proper treatment. "…And if someone wasn't trying to get famous curing cancer by causing it." Shaw's theory wasn't subtle and neither was Zoe's schmoozing of bespectacled friend. She figured if the Dutch sperm donor wasn't in the picture it seemed the next phase of Zoe's plan involved slotting Finch in instead, which was a recipe for disaster.

John wasn't convinced the doctor had caused the death alone. "I cracked Walter's safe; he consented to being part of her research. It's in writing."

Joss took a deep breath, though the information was new, she knew what she had to do next even if it meant ruining a family's Christmas. "The court would argue that Walter wasn't in his right state of mind when he signed, that he didn't know the full repercussions-"

"That he could _die_." Shaw interjected, finding her lawyer spiel a welcome alternative to Zoe and Finch's weirdly-normal bonding session over a Christmas tree.

"- _And_ Dr Lockett withheld vital information about the risk a man in his late sixties was taking."

"What about his choice?" John asked. "To live or die; to take meds or die naturally."

Joss stuck to the facts, because she didn't like where the conversation was going and to her knowledge he was the only one in the car who had considered making that kind of decision in the past; specifically, on the day they met. "If so, physician-assisted suicide is still manslaughter in the state of New York. Not to mention medical malfeasance. I've gotta bring her in sooner or later, John. Look, I'll review the evidence and take her to the 68th Precinct so that should give you some time to leave Sunset Park Med before the cops come knocking." It was clear her choice was made, but it didn't sit right with him.

 _7.25pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

For as long as she could remember, Evelyn was a sucker for a forehead kiss; especially an unexpected one that made her sister walk away in jealousy and search the cupboards for more wine. Cammie had already chewed her out over Joss' sudden disappearance and John's beyond-late arrival but she bit down on her tongue long enough not to fire back because of the baby in the manger and counted down the rest of his birthday. "What was that for?" She asked, not that she needed a reason.

"For being nice." Gregory replied.

She blinked in response to what didn't sound like a compliment. "I'm always nice. _Very_ nice."

A few hundred people along the East Coast would beg to differ but he wasn't the type to bring that up. "Aaaaaaaaand for not prodding Cammie about the engagement."

That stunned her almost speechless because it wasn't like Gregory – or anyone else – to be on the front foot when it came to family gossip; especially since she retired. " _What?"_

"Hamilton left a week ago," He explained. "He's engaged to his-"

"Hot-tailed floozie." Evelyn stated, tapping her fingernails on top of his piano in thought. Cammie always took out her pain on others and her snapping at the grandsons over 'all that X-box noise' was just the tip of the iceberg. There was only one kind of help she would accept. "We need more wine."

"Wine?" He repeated. "What about sympathy?"

Evelyn got her first laugh since her sister arrived. "That would humiliate her more than being dumped before Christmas. Trust me, I know my sister. Gotta keep her liquored up 'til New Year."

"And then?"

"Then she's TSA's problem."

He didn't know what to say; if this was their version of sisterhood, he had no choice than to roll with it. As odd as it was. "So…more wine?"

She smiled brightly. "Red and rosé."

 _8.14pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

It had been such a long time since Finch kissed a woman he underestimated how much he'd missed the feeling. The unplanned happening was meant to be a light peck of thanks between friends for making Christmas in the city less lonely, a pleasantry. What it became was an awakening of a need he thought had died along with his chance of being with Grace in this lifetime; company, namely female company. A French proverb came to mind: _bon repas doit commencer par la faim,_ a good meal must start with hunger. And Harold Finch was long starved of affection so a kiss was a crumb; it would never satisfy him.

Zoe was drawn to him; her only friend, her listening ear, the other half of free-flowing conversation. In short, he was there for her and the idea of being there for him made sense somehow. So they tried the polite goodbye kiss again and this time it was wordless and lasted longer and felt less friendly. A lot less friendly.

 _9.01pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Even though 25 years had passed since Paul and his frat brothers last strutted around the Milton campus with their matching purple and white letters, he was still looking forward to butchering an old step and playing cards with one of his oldest friends and crashing out on the couch with Gina with empty red cups everywhere. But it didn't take much for his blood to boil when an attempt to quiet his girlfriend's annoying ringtone before the short drive to Tony's house led him to a call log going back a month between the woman he loved and the man he almost-hated. " _Why?_ " was all he could ask because his heart was beating so fast he could feel the pounding in his ears.

"Because he's lonely. And he's still your father." Gina explained while she ran a tong down her hair in the bathroom mirror, grossly underestimating what it was doing to him.

He tried to remember how to breathe deeply. "You talk about me?" Her silence was his answer. "You talk about Taylor?"

"Sometimes." She replied, plucking a stray eyebrow hair.

Paul felt he had his father's intention figured out and didn't hesitate sharing what was on his mind. "He's playing you."

"Paul-"

"That's what he does. And you're going for it." Through a quick glance his way she saw his nostrils were flaring. So much for deep breathing. "So…what'd he say about the house?"

"There's a hold up with the sale, seems like some of the neighbours can't afford to move on what they're offering so it's being renegotiated."

"Mmm-hmm, and he's buttering you up for next year; so you can work on me and I can work on Taylor."

Gina felt her heart palpitating; she wasn't afraid of him but she couldn't forget the evening the man who couldn't watch combat scenes in movies anymore, firing a perfect shot almost at his father. "I'm just trying to do the right thing."

"Yeah? Well you're not." He rubbed her back and tried to explain why there was no chance for reconciliation. "Your dad was a good man, you had to reason to love him."

"Don't say that."

"I made the mistake of being Jeremy's son instead of Taylor's dad just _one_ time and look where that got me. I can't do it. And in his own way, Taylor needs me. He _finally_ needs me. Not in a 'look after him so the Feds can't get him' kinda way either. So no, there's not gonna be some Soul Food reunion with Jeremy. I missed 'cause I wanted to, Gina."

"So you're just gonna leave him like that? All alone in the house until he…"

He can hear his father in her question and knows it's not because she's stupid but because she's kind. "That's my mama's house; she's in every tile, every floorboard and every wall of that place. He's not getting his hands on it."

She remembered the two pairs of shoes she was deciding between were still on the bedroom floor. "I guess we're not going to Tony's tonight."

"Guess not."


	58. Mood

A/N: Credit to #NewEditionBET for getting my creative juices flowing. I know "It's been a long time, I shouldn't'a left you..."

As always, enjoy x

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Chapter 58: Mood

 _New Years' Eve, Saturday 31_ _st_ _December 2016, 9.09am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

After a night of nocturnal crime-fighting, leaving his wife alone with the boring task of reading NYPD policy changes, John wanted nothing more than to shed his clothes like a second skin and dive under the covers for the last time that year. Between the Christmas dinner they missed most of, the ethical dilemma Joss hadn't made a move to resolve, Taylor's atypical binge drinking with his cousin, the bizarre coupling of Finch and Zoe "Maneater" Morgan as told by Shaw, and the Evelyn's S.O.S. calls about the sister who was driving her crazy; they were finally alone. And it was quiet. Comfortably and peacefully quiet, for once. "What's that smell?" Joss asked, getting a whiff of something like paraffin from his hair.

"Eggs." John joked, thinking the less she knew about last night's four-car pile-up the better.

"Comedian." She replied, giving his bottom lip a bite instead of a kiss.

"Guess what I found?"

"What?" The mistletoe tickled as it rubbed against her chin. "Are you getting all romantic on me, John?"

He smirked. "Somewhat."

"What does that mean?" She shouldn't have asked because the moment he placed the mistletoe above her navel she had already lost by 10. John was too fast for her, pinning down her legs with his forearms before she could move, adding sullying one of the purest holiday traditions to his long scroll of crimes. After all, those weren't the warm wet kisses it was designed for; not that she cared. " _Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_. Right. There. _Yesssssssssssssssss…_ "

 _10.10am, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

For the week since Paul made the painful discovery, Jack, or rather _Jeremy_ , Frost had taken up residence at his house and only the arrival of his son and nephew at the crack of dawn could thaw out the chill of disloyalty. His son and cousin were still sleeping off their latest high-jinks and hangovers when Gina tried to break the ice over his favourite breakfast. He was like Taylor in that regard; it didn't have to be fancy, a stuffed sausage, egg and cheese sandwich stacked high and smothered in ketchup did the trick. But the good eats just added to the feeling he was being played by proxy and that left a bad aftertaste in his mouth. "Thanks. That was good." He said, while filling in the last digits in a Sudoku puzzle.

"I know you're mad at me." She started, even though he wasn't looking at her. "And I know why."

He sighed because she knew far less than she thought she did; keeping the channels open with Jeremy to bring them closer had had the opposite effect. "I'm not mad. I'm done." There was no anxious foot-tapping or hand-wringing to accompany his statement, instead he said it with resolve as if to set it in stone. "I left my half to Taylor 'cause he's my blood, Jeremy slid in here and tried to steal it and that was my fault. But I'll be damned if he _ever_ gets the house he locked her up in. Didn't tell you that, did he?" His raised eyebrows and rhetorical question added to what she was already feeling; that it was beyond a mistake she made, she'd done damage to someone she cared about and didn't know how to make it right when her attempts at making things right were all wrong. " _That's_ the man you've been talking to. Can't be trusted. So, can I trust you?"

"Of course." She said automatically.

"Then no more Jeremy. I need to get back to how it was; no Jeremy." Paul's casual ultimatum stunned her silent, everything about how calm he was about cutting his father off for life disturbed her but because she couldn't speak he assumed they agreed. And in that moment, Gina realised there was a high price to pay for talking to Jeremy and he wouldn't hesitate to cut her off either; which placed her on shaky ground. He filled the last 1, 4 and 6 in the puzzle and changed subject. "Can you believe Reggie's never seen the Ball drop, not even on TV? Let's see if he makes it to Times Square tonight, damn Jagers…"

 _12.26pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

With the New Year fast approaching, Paul was restless about creating some kind of change in his life (which Susan would inevitable unearth as taking back control from Jeremy) and felt it was time to resolve things with his son in as few words as possible. Taylor was still in yesterday's clothes with a towel around his neck but was in better shape than his cousin.

Paul noticed his eyes were a little bloodshot. "So you're upright?"

Taylor smiled because the parts of last night he could remember were fun; if there was one thing his old-school friends were good at, throwing wild parties was it. "Yeah. Got kinda crazy last night."

Reggie was still half asleep on the bed and the carpet marks on his face showed Taylor slept on the floor. "I can tell. Look, about the whole thing at Thanksgiving; I'm sorry. You forgive me?"

Taylor had never heard his dad apologise before and that made him respect him more. "Yeah."

Reggie rolled over and snorted, unaware he was being watched. "And you really wanna do Spring Break with him?"

After a semester-full of drama, Reggie was a welcome distraction. "Yeah. Why not?"

Paul had a flashback of Spring Break '91 at Daytona Beach, LL Cool J and red and blue lights. "Just don't get arrested."

Taylor sensed an admission of guilt. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing…it wasn't our fault…"

 _4.51pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

The leather-bound copy of The Social Contract by _Jean-Jacques Rousseau_ made Shaw roll her eyes at the charade that was the budding relationship. In her mind, the only person with the right to invade his space was her, not a pregnant PR expert with a penchant for rich, educated men. It was a shame to see her friend getting played but she was incapable of expressing it in a socially-acceptable way. "Is there an issue I'm unaware of Ms Shaw? You have been rather tense this festive season."

"She's using you." Finch found that claim ironic since she had eaten half the contents of his fridge in the last 48 hours. "First she wanted sperm, then she wanted a baby and now she wants a billionaire to bankroll it."

"I assure you, Zoe is on firm financial footing. Now if the issue is my largesse-"

" _Zoe_? What happened to _Ms Morgan_?"

"There are times where such formality isn't required."

"Like when you're knocking off _Jethro's_ leftovers?"

"Must you be so crass, or is that a certain banjo player's turn of phrase? I believe there was a point to your bad mood, not just an unfounded accusation?"

Shaw sighed because she didn't understand how he still couldn't see what was in front of them with the Machine on his side. "She. Is. Using. You. You're not her type, Harold. You're a stand-up guy, practically blue-blooded. We all know Zoe's a climber; if it's not a power grab, a money grab, or an ego boost, her heart's not in it. Now you're being set-up as a…Billionaire baby daddy."

Finch clears his throat, unsure of what to make of her outburst. "Well, that was rather…enlightening. Before you return to that comfortable loft across town, I believe it was Bill Withers who once sang, ' _if it feels this good getting used; you just keep on using me, until you use me up_.' Travel well, Ms Shaw."


	59. Maggie

_A/N: Credit to #TheQuadBET and all of you for making me plug back into writing. I've got 5 or 6 chapters to go - I think 64 or 65 is a nice round number. Hmm?_

 _As always, enjoy x_

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Chapter 59: Maggie

 _New Year's Day, Sunday 1_ _st_ _January 2017, 1.12am, Nolan's Pub, Bronx, New York_

"Are you gonna do something with it or just stare at it all night?" Shaw asked her friend who sat in the corner with a warm beer defeated while the rest of the patrons cheered, jeered and yelled at a boxing match on the 104" screen, clearly in favour of the Irish competitor Scotty "White Dot" Tiernan.

"How'd you know I was here?" Fusco asked, since drinking wasn't supposed to be his thing anymore.

She sighed and looked around. Obviously, there were concealed cameras somewhere. "So… _chug_." For some reason her blatant insensitivity made him smile. "Since you're a little girl tonight, I'll show you how it's done."

She downed the pint with no chin spill or pause and punctuated her triumph with an unceremonious burp. And he laughed harder than he had in months. "You're a class act, Shaw."

"Ahhh, Lionel. What kinda name is Lionel anyway? I know; a _gimme-your-lunch-money_ name."

"And she's back."

"You know we're the only normal ones left, right? Zoe's an infection."

"How the hell did _Glasses_ pull that off?" He asked. " _Legs_?"

"Yeah. _Legs_ cutting off the blood supply to his brain. Venus Fly- _parent_ -Trap."

"You think that's her end game? _Legs, Glasses and Richie Rich_?"

"I think she's playing him…and I wanna punch her in the face; that's my end game. And two stouts." She elbowed him. "And tip the guy with the man bun. He looks like Tuesday afternoon…"

He knew better than to ask.

 _Thursday 5_ _th_ _January 2017, 1.35pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

The day Evelyn Magnolia Willie-Mae Taylor-Clement had prayed for had finally come; her sister was leaving for South Carolina and she was getting her house back, which was worth more fireworks than New Years' at Sydney, Rio and Dubai combined. Gregory was working on the B-section of an original song in the living room, while CeCe half-listened and half-pondered whether to swipe left or right on her dating app for a man who described himself as a 'lifelong Raiders fan', considering her sketchy history with a certain football player. Maybe her colleague was right; she needed a boring, dependable man to fix a leaky tap, take out the trash, come home at night and…love her.

Cammie looked more relaxed than she had in decades when she swanned back into the condo with two department store shopping bags and insisted her younger sister followed her to her room; presumably to try on a new outfit, gloat about what good a low-sugar diet could do, and prod 'Maggie' for compliments. But Evelyn was wrong, it wasn't a senseless shopping spree or retail therapy, Cammie had shopped for revenge; proving her vindictive streak was very much alive.

She didn't have to be a jewellery buff to know the matching diamond and emerald necklace and dangling teardrop earrings from Oculus Jewels on 5th Ave must have set her sister back enough to hit Hamilton where it really hurt – in his wallet – and put a monsoon rain over his Bahamian island paradise with the pop tart included. "Cammie…what are you doing?" She asked a question she already had an answer to as her sister was and always had been the ' _get mad, get mad as hell, and get even, or hold a grudge 'til Kingdom come_ ' type.

"It's…insurance." Cammie said with conviction.

"Okay…how many carats?"

Cammie swatted her question away with a flick of the wrist. "Let's not get bogged down in details." I figure I've been married three times and somehow at all so, keep them for me." She cleared her throat and remembered her manners. "Please."

"'Til when?"

 _Until Hamilton comes home and finds the joint bank account's almost empty._ "Until justice comes, Maggie. Until then."

Evelyn mused, not sure whether to agree because Cammie wasn't her favourite person but secretly proud that she'd moved from the boozing phase to the proactive one; otherwise known as the _Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale_ phase. "Fine." She agreed, with Mama's voice saying ' _Blood is thicker than water'_ ringing in her ears. Although Cammie didn't need it, she tried to lighten the mood with a happier memory from a simpler time. "Remember when Joe used to hang around on the other side of the street? At the Watsons? _Watching_ me."

It was Cammie's turn to roll her eyes because they had different recollections of the same thing. "Watching you show _off_ on the porch with your _James Brown_ act. Even had the _hair_." Evelyn laughed, because once upon a time she could croak out a few decent adlibs from _I got the feelin' and_ flip her hair about _,_ especially fresh off the hot comb _._ "What's that song?" Cammie asked, as a secret fan of Gregory's talent.

"It's called _Right kinda trouble_ and it's about me, he can't seem to finish it though."

"How long since he started?" Cammie asked, closing the $64,000 jewellery box and leaving it on the bed.

"About…4 years. But I don't mind, gives me something to look forward to."

Cammie nodded and unzipped her suitcase. There were just toiletries, a trench coat and some Isotoners for Tullie left to pack away. "You know what I can't stand about you most?"

"My charm and _arresting_ beauty?" Evelyn replied with sickly-sweet eyelash batting.

"That you broke all the rules and still ended up _here_. With _him_." She folded the trench coat over and wrapped her toiletry bag in a towel. "Gregory's a good man. Must be for putting up with you and your… _charm_ , was it?"

Evelyn didn't have much to say because she couldn't argue for once, and sometimes winning was a simple as being happy with someone to be happy with. And, this was as good as it was ever going to get between them. "So, when's your flight?"

"5.15 at LaGuardia."

She nodded. "Cammie?"

"Yes?"

"Give him hell." Camellia didn't acknowledge _him_ or the

"And let's _never_ do this again and say we did."

Cammie sipped her suitcase shut and supressed a smile. "Amen to that, little sister."

 _2.47pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens_

Taylor could sense the weird energy between Gina and his dad but didn't have it in him to ask what was going on. With Reggie gone, real life was back on his mind like his girlfriend and the nameless, faceless new roommate he'd be living with until the summer. This time he planned to mind his own business…unless they needed CPR or something.

"You wanna transfer back home?" Paul asked, tuning the car radio to the _Jammin' on the One_ show he liked and Taylor didn't. _Ray Parker Jr & Raydio's_ 'A woman needs love' was playing.

"I'm not moving schools just 'cause my roommate joined a cult, Dad."

"Just checking." He turned up the heat. "How was Zahra's holidays?"

"They went to her uncle's restaurant to eat and stuff. But, no tree or anything. She said the best gifts come at Eid."

Paul knew that half-smile anywhere, especially on his son. "You still like her. So what's the deal?"

He looked out the window and followed a squirrel down the street. "She's scared of me or something, and I don't know what do about it."

"Hmmm." Paul didn't have the answer, and didn't think anyone did. Not even Zahra. And the thought that Taylor got a new girlfriend at his urging made him scratch his neck. "Maybe you should do what you've been doing; get to know her. Then she can trust you." He reflected on his own situation with Gina and the niggling feeling that without trust the love wasn't really there; not like it should have been. "Maybe she's never done that before."

"Yeah, maybe." He would never admit he thought about it more than he let on.

"I've been thinking about the house."

Taylor swallowed. "Which house?"

"Ours. And the other one too."

"You want me to sign?"

"No. And trust me, you don't wanna do that. It's _your_ half, Taylor."

It felt like the other half of a conversation they probably should've had months ago. "What about Jeremy?"

Paul breathed in and out. "My Mama used to say ' _all giants fall like Goliath_ '. So, what _about_ Jeremy?"

"Was he always like this?" Taylor asked, as the squirrel disappeared behind a trash can.

"Ummm…it's hard to say. You never know if he's getting better or worse. I guess it's just a game."

"That you can't win, right?" Taylor asked, intuitively, giving him a reminiscent feeling of something Joss said the first day she met Jeremy. "If I sign, he wins and hangs it over your head. And if I don't, he keeps coming back for it, right?"

Paul shook his head. "All I know is the best way to play; is not to play at all."

Taylor nodded, because he understood why it had to be this way; and why Reggie had an allergic reaction to his dad too. "So…are you gonna tell me what happened at Spring Break or not?"

"What happens in Daytona; stays in Daytona…but who knows? Maybe I'll tell you one day."

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Do we _have_ to listen to this station?"

"My car, my music, kid."


	60. Moving

_A/N: Hi guys, it's been a crazy few months and I want to thank you for bearing with me and checking in. I really appreciate it. I will finish this story, life is being life but it will happen._

 _As for now, a short one with our favourite characters to set us up for what's next. If you've read Body Count, you know I don't leave loose ends. BTW I'm still taking M words so feel free to send me some._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 60: Moving

 _Six weeks later, Tuesday 14_ _th_ _February 2017, 11.49pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

John always knew his wife was stressed when she didn't have time to tease him about the legality of his daily activities and greeted him through clenched teeth behind a laptop screen at the kitchen counter. He wasn't sure how many nights she'd spent up finishing paperwork she'd brought home because their most recent meetings were under the sheets instead of in the field. With Finch doing double duty as Admin and Zoe's confidant cum Lamaze partner, he and Shaw found themselves stretched thinner than usual.

Noguerra seemed to have taken his laser focus off Carter since she submitted the application for her promotion, it didn't stop him from recruiting two of his old cronies from the 28th Precinct onto her team which put her on edge. If you asked John; a lot of things put her on edge these days. Maybe it was a bout of Imposter Syndrome getting the best of her but what Joss hadn't admitted yet, even to herself, was that she might've bitten off more that she could chew. Busying herself with enough work so she didn't have to think about her choice and what it may or may not do to her partner, her grumbling and rhythmic typing masked strings of curse words that he wished she would let fly, if not for her relief then, for his entertainment. "You know we've got to stop meeting like this." He said, opting to stand instead of sit at the kitchen island just in case she was grumbling about catching him on a security camera earlier that day.

She yawned and rolled her head back against her neck, feeling every crick. "Just…five more minutes. _Jesus_."

"What's the problem?" He asked, with his blue eyes dulled in the dimmed light.

"They found Emma Philips in Bryant Park, the sophomore who went missing after a dance last Friday night." From her mournful tone, he knew the missing teenager wasn't found alive.

"So you're heading out?"

She shook her head. "Fusco and DeMarco are already on the scene and I'm up to my eyes in these reports I need to sign off so...you know, before the holidays Noguerra pulled me in about relationships and I don't know what that means for Fusco."

"Why?"

"He's…different these days. Like, not all together. And I can't exactly keep an eye on him if…You know, he told me to take the job so he didn't have to hear about me not taking it."

John knew from her open-ended sentences there was more. There was always more. "And?"

"You don't think he's drinking again, do you?" She shook her head and answers her own question befoe he could respond. "No, he can't be…"

"And?" John probed, because he hadn't found something he could fix yet.

" _And_ Taylor's not answering my calls."

"That's 'cause he's…dealing." He barely explained because Taylor specifically asked him to not to alarm her.

"With what? I thought he got all that silly drinking out his system with Reggie, that's the only reason I said okay to Spring Break."

John tried to abide by guy code. "He needs some head space, nothing to worry about."

"What?" She wondered what else she was missing in his life, as though she'd resurfaced from a month or two underwater. " _Now_ I'm worrying." Her maternal clairvoyance filled in the gaps. "It's Zahra, right? Ever since he met that girl…"

John's attempts to put out the fire were adding fuel to it. "Just…expect a little radio silence for now."

As usual, she made the first conclusion and it wasn't far off from the truth. "He's in way over his head. I tried to tell him not to go too far too fast with her but I guess he wasn't listening."

John realised he had to come clean. "He was. After the holidays, Zahra changed her mind. And after the dust settled she changed her mind again and said something about feeling violated twice over. So he's not in a good space."

Joss saw another heartbreak coming for her son and knew she couldn't do anything to stop it. "How's he taking it?"

"He wants space but he still wants her around so…" He wanted to say something to ease her mind. "Look, he's 19; he's _always_ confused. And he'll work it out, whatever that means."

She smiled because despite whatever secret man-talk they were having while she performed the swan act at work – complete with frantic underwater paddling – seemed to offer her son relief. She could always count on him being there for her son. _Their_ son. "I'm done for the night." John didn't believe her until the laptop showed no more sign of life and the light stopped blinking. After a long breath she asked a broad and philosophical question, "Did I do the right thing?"

John knew a trap when he saw one. "Joss, you know I can't tell you that."

She finger-combed her hair back. "You think we'll make it to Scranton?"

And there was that smirk that made her forget her workload. "Depends on if I'm still _wanted_ in PA then."

Her smile beamed from the inside out. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be doing five-to-ten for choking out Noguerra."

He told her what she needed to hear. "You want me to send him some dog treats?"

The thought was more appealing than she let on. "I want you…to leave your socks on."


	61. Minuswell

_A/N: Hi guys, thanks for welcoming me back. You always get me pumped to write. Shout out to TheRegal1 for a prompt they didn't know was a prompt months ago and everyone who still reads this - it's amazing. Oh and Erykah Badu for bringing Common and Talib Kweli on stage last night._

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 61: Minuswell

 _Thursday 23rd February 2017, 7.21pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens_

Despite Paul's anxious hand-wringing and work stress, Susan was heartened by the _Reflective Listening_ worksheet he'd completed about Taylor that she took as a sign that he was trying to improve their communication. "How is Taylor?" She asked as she doodled on a clipboard.

"Pretty good. Got a new roommate…making good grades…girl trouble, you know, usual stuff. I've been thinking about the house, fixing it up for him."

"That's new." She made a note. _Trigger._

"Tell me about it. I never thought he'd wanna live there but if they're fixing up the block I guess it's the least I can do. You know, might as well."

"And how does Jeremy feel about that?"

He shook his head at a conversation he hadn't had and hadn't thought of having. "He's not a 'feelings' kinda person. He's a " _what they doing in my yard, don't make me get my gun_ '-type."

She let out a short nervous laugh but didn't think he was joking. "I see. And Gina?"

"I'd be lying if I said she's not… _convincing_." Gina could convince him to give up meat with enough encouragement and the right pair of dance shorts on. "She said being mad at Jeremy just gives me a headache, so I might as well do something."

Susan's quick scribble came out as _minus well_. "What do _you_ want to do?"

He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, aware of her latest tactic; reframing. Nevertheless, he sighed. "The right thing; whatever that is." Susan didn't write and he didn't speak. And after five minutes of quiet or, as Susan like to think of it, mindfulness their session was over. She validated his parking and he didn't know if it was helping, hurting or doing nothing at all. "See you next week."

 _11.07pm, 42nd Street, New York_

" _It was a clear black night, a clear white moon, Warren G was on the streets, trying to consume some skirts for the eve…_ " Fusco felt the bass pulsating through the leather seats of the most-likely-stolen black Escalade as Shaw half-ignored his presence like he hadn't sped through traffic to get there. As much as he thought she was and always would be Wingman of the Century; he didn't have the words to tell Vonnie that as nice as she was, nothing thrilled him like the quasi-illegal adventures only one woman could bring. "What you got, Sporty Spice?" He asked, as she watched a video of python eating a springbok whole, "Beside a permanent chip on your shoulder."

"A pain in my ass and an itch in my-"

"Thanks for the image. _Jeez_." He forced the smile back down. "So you need backup?"

"More like clean-up." She replied, switching screens on her smartphone from nature at its finest to a surveillance feed of a sub-level parking lot.

He shook his head at her cryptic clue but couldn't help looking forward to whatever high-jinks the night would bring. "What's the damage?" She simply grinned in response and slammed her foot on the gas, whipping his head back.

 _10.47pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

" _Tay, girls ain't nothing but trouble. Fastest way to complicate your life is to add a girl to it._ " – Paul Carter, 2016.

Taylor thought his only problem was being kept up last night as his third-year film student roommate, Wilson from Philly, spliced scenes together from _Suicide Squad_ to make a music video just because. But after swallowing several chapters of _Mathematical Modeling of Biological Systems_ and turning yet another R.U.M.M. letter into a paper airplane, all he wanted to do was hit up the _House Party_ house party on campus and let off some steam. Fate, or whatever he called it, had other plans. He knew that scarf. Usually it was draped over her shoulders as a makeshift poncho or tossed on his bed when she took off her hijab and sat cross-legged on his bed or appropriated as an umbrella when she ran from the library to the dorm in the rain. But today it was just a scarf, wrapped as tightly around her neck as the tension between them. She stood awkwardly at his door, unsure of what to say. "Hey."

"Hey." He replied, followed by a longer-than-usual silence. "Just tell me what I did."

"Nothing." She meant to say nothing wrong but didn't because then he might has thought that she though he did something wrong. Which he didn't.

"Then why'd you freak out?" He asked, suddenly aware of the tightness of his grip on the door.

It wasn't a conversation to be having in the corridor of Turner Hall, even though the few people around were in their own insta-worlds. Not that she had the words to say regardless. "I-I ju-I don't know!"

Taylor also knew that look, and the voice crack. There was something about having lived with a woman for so long that made him more aware of these things. And he didn't want her to leave in tears again; not for her feelings, and not for his image either. He rubbed her right arm, maybe to console her or pacify her. Maybe both. "Okay. It's okay." Zahra couldn't explain how torn she felt; how much she wanted to run all the way to Minneapolis and hide but why she was at his door inches away from burying her head in his chest. And as for Taylor, those Senior year tension headaches were coming back but this time it wasn't the pressure of pleasing everyone; it was the weight and the guilt and the confusion of breaking her virginity and the weird energy that created. It didn't feel as light as it did before. They weren't laughing the same. She didn't know where she stood. And because of all of that, he couldn't leave her. "Come in."

 _Friday 24th February 2017, 10:19am, 8th Precinct_

Fusco knew when his partner walked out of Noguerra's office and headed straight for the locker room without a word twenty minutes ago, that Joss was passed over for the promotion and had eggs benedict on her face. The voice of the Best Wingman Ever a.k.a. Sporty Spice a.k.a. Hell on Wheels spoke to him, and told him to put sugar in Noguerra's tank when no-one was looking. She was quite the influence on him; his secret smile and constant invitation to mischief. He was distracted doing from the simplest thing like reassuring his partner that he had her back because Shaw was on his mind and in his head like an earworm from a car radio. _Damn that Shaw_.

The tap was still running after five minutes despite all the water conservation posters on the walls from the _Municipal Water Efficiency Program_. Joss tried to regulate her breathing and curb her cursing but she was hurt. It was at times like this that she felt like her father must have in the Army, except he could blame it on the times. In 2017 Josiah Taylor's daughter was passed over for her loyalty and the inerasable stain of breaking code to uphold the badge. The City of New York would never forget so forgiveness was out of the question. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. And it hurt. It all hurt.

 _10:26am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

" _You should know, whether you like me or not, Joss, you're not alone._ " The Man in the Suit, 2011.

Those words were just as true as he watched her through the concealed camera in the photo frame on her desk. John's first instinct was to cold-cock Noguerra between the eyes but Finch had other plans for him. "My commiserations to the Detective." He said, offering a black coffee which John shook his head at.

"Thanks Finch."

Finch sipped his Sencha tea and broached an uncharted topic. "I know it's bad timing but even The Machine believes there's no time like the present."

John braced himself for news of a proposal, because Zoe had that effect on men – even for a week in the boonies. "Shoot."

Finch took a long inhale like the refined orator he was. "Well, it appears that Ms Morgan has been filling…a void in me."

"A void?" John repeated. The law of biology said the man 'filled the void' unless he heard a euphemism where there wasn't one.

Finch nodded. "Yes, and I've been selfish; more concerned with filling the void than what the void is filled with. You see you'll remember that life was very different without sunshine, like an overcast sky of the longest winter." John resisted to make a joke about Zoe's 'warmth'. "It is abundantly clear, I'll never love another as deeply as I do Grace, and I'm content with that. Temporary sweetness is still sweet, though maybe fleeting."

John neglected to mention that Zoe was artificially sweet like boiled candy fresh out the wrapper with artificial flavouring. "Gotcha."

Finch grinned, as though he had just completed level 57 of a game on the Sega Mega Drive. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now, about the Detective; it seems there's a Sergeant position going at the 28th Precinct. My trusty calculator here says she has a 64% chance of success, if new scenery is what she's after."

"You're a class act, Finch, but I know what'll make her feel better…"


	62. Myrtle

_A/N: Hi guys, I've been working like the Machine this month. But I'm here. Thanks for sticking around. Oh and #sexytime!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 62: Myrtle

 _Saturday 25th February 2017, 1.14am, Soundview Park, Bronx, New York_

It turned out that Shaw beat John to the punch, taking her less-than-rightful place as the head of the comforting committee. Instead of chocolates and tea, or even a shot of something she'd brewed under her bed, Carter's commiseration came in the form of a fully-loaded bazooka and an arts and craft project. Joss didn't ask questions with Shaw by her side; there was no point in asking where she got a military grade bazooka from at that time or what her plans were because a carefully-placed torch revealed a shooting test dummy with beer bottle caps where his member was supposed to be.

"You work fast." Carter remarked with approval, making Shaw tingle.

"Enough of the mushy stuff, Carter. 10 points for a limb, 20 for a head shot and 50 for the bullseye."

"Yes ma'am." She gave her a mock salute, sparing any more words of appreciation that Shaw wouldn't and couldn't accept. Even Shaw didn't have a snappy comeback for that.

 _8.11am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

No matter how many times John tried to sneak into bed with subtlety or quiet, Joss woke up to his arrival without fail. Even though she was still tipsy from four swigs too many from Shaw's special bottle of hooch, the slight crunch of his feet on the carpet broke her slumber. "Morning, Trouble." She greeted, arching her back like a cat.

"Trouble? Me?" He asked, kicking off his boots with a smirk.

Joss wiped the sleep from her left eye to get a better view. "That's what your knuckles say." It was futile to ask how she noticed the swelling from across the room, and as he drew closer and took his shirt off her inspection amplified. "Hmmm, no visible bruises, and if remember right that scar's about a month old."

"Night nurse." Was all he said, quoting Gregory's favourite song in response.

She sat up on her elbows. "You _were_ a doctor…for all of five minutes."

John refrained from bringing up the euthanasia because it wasn't the right time. If there ever was one. "I tried. They said my bedside manner needed work."

She raised one eyebrow higher than the other when she wasn't even trying to. "Is _that_ what they said?"

His belt buckle made a thud when it hit the floor. "Among other things."

Joss pulled the old raggedy sorority t-shirt over her head dragging her hair along with the static, its royal blue wasn't so royal anymore. "Like what?" Her question was met with a blue-eyed comfortable silence. It was clear he didn't want to play verbal tennis with her, even if he loved the banter. Off went his dirty jeans. When he looked at her that way, she wasn't full of words either. They could've talked about the promotion she was robbed of, or the glass ceiling that was really made of concrete, or whose face got the four-knuckle treatment and why. But there was no need.

She peeled back the covers on her side of the custom 8-foot wide bed even though there was room enough for John, Shrek and Shaquille O'Neal on his side. He followed her lead, taking up the narrow space between her legs and taking in the smell of sweat laced with jasmine. Her nose and lips brushed against his with subtlety, calming her cluttered mind. It wasn't the time for John to tell her he'd met the man who was taking her Sergeant position with a right hook outside his apartment, or that the 50 dozen donuts coming to the Precinct on Monday morning were courtesy of Finch's hacking, or that he may or may not have hidden a half-empty vial of crack in Noguerra's car. Again, there was no need; the words she really needed to hear didn't need an explanation. "I love you. I'm with you. And that's just the way it is."

She smiled, "Whether I like it or not?"

"As I recall, you like it very much."

And she did; she liked it with hungry kisses from the depth of her growling stomach, with passionate giving, with effort and sweat and open pores, with her teeth trapping his bottom lip, with a slow grind, with her hair whipped back, with the feline scratch of a lioness, with a tight grip, with submission and surrendering, with all she could stand until the throbbing of a beaten bass drum swelled into eye-glistening orgasm that stuttered her speech until a cluster of onomatopoeic and swear words. His name was Trouble the day he walked into her life, long before she knew what kind.

"You hungry?" She asked, catching a breath.

John looked up at her face and read her mind. "Eggs."

 _1:08pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

" _Tay, girls ain't nothing but trouble._ "

His father's words rang in Taylor's ears to the pounding beat of his hangover headache from the _Sigma vs. Gamma_ party he crashed last night. Taylor didn't have a side, or any letters for that matter, but the more pressure he felt, the more he found himself letting off steam in unexpected ways. Like the pressure of Reggie cancelling on Spring Break because the Gamecocks lost to the Vanderbilt Commodores and the Kentucky Wildcats back-to-back; that made him look to Wilson as a stand-in.

"Can't. Filming that week; guerrilla-style. Ask Zahra." Wilson said quickly, before putting his headphones back on and editing a $50 music video.

Then there was the pressure of Zahra and the emotional weight someone had to carry; that made him pay attention when Isabella popped-up on social media. Her profile picture was new; she'd dyed her thick black kinky-curls caramel brown like Lion Babe and he wasn't sure he liked it but he couldn't look away. Isabella's knowing eyes called him out through the screen like a GIF attached to a trending clapback tweet. And before Taylor knew it, his fingers were typing something they (and he) shouldn't.

\- _Myrtle Beach?_

… _Isabella is typing_

 _No shit_ , he thought, until the ellipsis turned to text.

\- _Chat?_

With the privacy of Wilson being engrossed in his work, and no-one around to tell him he was playing with fire, Isabella looked better than ever in an 840x640 window.

"Hi." She smiled and her teeth flashed, just like he remembered from the time when all he could do was stare.

"Hi." Taylor was suddenly conscious of the drool at the corner of his mouth, his hair being it its 'whatever' phase in between shape-ups, and the sucked-in feeling of the grass being greener. "Your hair…"

"It's different, right?"

"It looks good." Her teeth flashed again. He cleared his drying throat. "About Myrtle-"

"I can't. My dad's convinced I'm gonna fall off a hotel balcony and end up alligator food like _that one Cuban girl_ who went to Spring Break _that one time_. You know him."

"Yeah…I do." And with that, the disapproving glare, crushing handshake and those odd Cuban idioms he didn't understand but always had " _muerte_ " in them came to mind.

"Then Pipo said he had a dream about a lake and it was a sign. When it was probably indigestion." She mimicked her grandfather's gruff, scratchy voice, " _estás nadando en aguas peligrosas_ _._ So I'm going home to curfews and _medianoches_." Her knowing eyes went to work again. "Reggie bailed, huh?" She asked, failing to stifle a smile.

"Yeah, _mandatory practice_."

"College cattle." She said, referring to something she'd read about the NCAA being run as a plantation for her economics elective. Taylor shrugged his shoulders. "We're still friends, right?"

"Yeah…friends."


	63. Mars

_A/N: Hi guys, I've had this in my head for a while and it came together tonight. I'd thought of Spring Break at Spring Break time but nooooo...worrrrrrk._

Anyway, thanks for checking in, keep sending M words; nouns, adjectives, words from other languages, I'll take them all.

FYI John Gray is an author, not one of John's aliases ;)

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 63: Mars

 _"Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus."_ – John Gray

 _Wednesday 1st March 2017, 11:16am, 8th Precinct_

In Shaw's words, " _March came in like a bitch on wheels. A bitch named Zoe_." Despite Evelyn's confidence that her daughter would outlast Noguerra and probably take his seat, her dear Jocelyn forced a smile, handshake and small talk with Sergeant Pulido because she didn't have a choice. Fusco already gave her the 411; he and Noguerra were tight at the 26th Precinct and he was a bona fide desk jockey; using paperwork to avoid getting in on the action. "But his name's on all the reports, right?"

Instead of answering her rhetorical question he offered her a hardened donut; one of the last from John's maddening prank. "That joker's a real clown." Fusco said loud enough for the bugged hockey player on his desk to pick up.

She shook her head, not entertaining the idea she slept next to the man who was above that kind of petty. "I prefer the term, _jackass_."

Fusco laughed. "Even used Cap's credit card, probably some college kid with too much time on his hands."

She bit her bottom lip to hide her smile. "More like a _nerd with glasses_ who never gets any." And like clockwork, her smartphone rang. "Carter."

"I resent that, Detective." Finch commented. "And they're called spectacles."

"How can I help you today, sir?"

"There's a… _public relations_ matter to deal with." He hinted, feeling a pang of guilt for the felonious vial in Noguerra's car. Even he had limits.

"Any more details?" She asked, none the wise.

"It seems a local journalist received an anonymous tip about some _illegal_ substances in one of the vehicles at the Precinct."

"Let me guess, they didn't say which."

Finch was enjoying it more than he should have, he was guilty enough to hint but not enough to tell. "Well, it's _definitely_ one of about… _forty_."

"Can you give me a description?" She asked, not at all interested in a treasure hunt.

"Now, that would be telling." Finch smiled and inhaled the steam from his tea to soothe his sinuses.

"Well, if that's all you know, I don't think I can help."

"Dete-"

She hung up and put the phone back in her blazer pocket. "What was that about?" Fusco asked, knowing donutgate had _Batman & Robin_ written all over it.

"Just a crank call. Hey, is it me or does he wear makeup?"

Fusco raised his eyebrows. "Where?"

"Around his nose. Pancake style, like he's got something to hide."

"You think too much."

"I mean it." She insisted. "Like he was punched in the f-"

Fusco went white at the realisation that the donuts were part of a 1-2 combo. He didn't want to be John when she got her hands on him. "So, about the dead insurance guy…"

 _A month later, Spring break, Friday 10th March 2017, 5.22pm, So Much Coffee, Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport_

Even though Taylor ordered an Almond Mocha and the band of the same name's music was playing in her right ear, Zahra wasn't happy. For the first time in weeks, he was sure it wasn't his doing; TSA was to blame. Dressed in a 2Pac "Have you seen him?" t-shirt, ripped jeans, different coloured shoes and a large backpack, Taylor Nicholas Carter breezed through security as his girlfriend lagged further and further behind for 33 minutes of repeated and extra questions, a "random" pat-down and an additional security screening where she took off her hijab in a private room with two female TSA Agents. He didn't know what to say because outside of their college-student bubble, life off campus was quite sobering. It seemed they didn't just live on different planets like Venus and Mars, but in different Americas too. "So…" His voice drifted because he didn't know what to say. "What's in Minneapolis?"

She'd answered that question in security already. "Family. Friends."

He hated to see her so subdued. Or humiliated. Probably the latter. "Zahra,"

"I should head to the gate."

"I'll go with." He offered.

She shook her head. "You're doing it again."

At this point he was so used to being confused, he couldn't play it off any longer. "Doing _what_?"

"Being that guy…Taylor to the rescue. So what does that make me?"

Taylor wasn't ready for that gut punch, nor was he ready for the surge of anger that rose in him; not knowing where it came from. "Wow."

 _11.46pm, Sylvia Plath Houses, Washington Heights, Manhattan_

Joss tapped her foot with restlessness, it was prime drug-selling time in the projects but it wasn't their job to make any arrests. Pulido's strict instructions were to wait for Vince D'Amerta and his girlfriend to make a drop to the 3rd floor and secure the north entrance of the building while someone else – a professional ass-kisser – made the arrest for the murder of an Insurance company owner through poisoning. "Why do they always go for the coffee?" Joss asked, pouring her cold one out the window.

Fusco shrugged his shoulders. "Who doesn't love a cup o' Joe? Except Vonnie."

Joss nudged him. "Where is she? You never bring her around?"

"Where?" He asked. "Don't mind the chalk outline, it's just another day at the office, and the one with the 'tude; that's Shaw. The beefy one is Captain America, and the-"

"I get it. Point made." Joss could've minded her own business but Evelyn was her mother after all. "What does Lee think?"

"He likes her dog. My brother thinks she's a gem; 'cause she's nice and normal and…" He lowered his voice because he knew she'd chew him out. " _Boring_."

"Might wanna lower your standards 'cause _no_ woman will ever be as high-octane as Carmen Sandiego herself. What up with you and her anyway?"

He knew she wouldn't let him off the hook without an answer. "Best. Wingman. Alive."

"Something tells me you're gonna need her help soon. Poor Vonnie doesn't stand a chance." He didn't argue and she dropped the bone.

 _Saturday 11th March 2017, 2.24am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

 _"John, when are you gonna marry my mom?" Taylor asked, before shoving a hand-full of popcorn in his mouth. It was one of those rare nights when he was home for the weekend and he and John had the pleasure of waiting up for Joss' return with an old Richard Pryor movie on TV._

 _John called his bluff. "You want me to?"_

 _He shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?_

 _"Hmmm. Why not?"_

They were fools then and weren't much better now. With Tekken on pause, their feet propped up on the coffee table (because Joss wasn't home yet), a bucket of chicken parts and two apple ciders (because it didn't count as beer) John pulled a chicken strip in half and brought up something he didn't have the balls to with his wife. "So, about the deer; was it _really_ that bad?"

Taylor tried to keep his eyes in their sockets; _his stunt lit a fire under the could've-never-been wedding and he still needed confirmation?_ "Are you kidding?"

John only had one explanation "I'm… _me_."

They locked eyes; John would never be sorry or really get it, but Taylor wasn't going to sell him out and risk both their lives in the process. "I know. You kinda sorta can't help it."

John nodded with approval. _At least someone gets it_. "Pot-kettle-black. You've got that look. Again."

"What look?"

"The _6 months of moping_ look." John informed him, because he needed to know. "So who is it? Zahra or Bella?"

Taylor sighed deeply. "She asked if we're still friends, and she's home for Spring Break."

John got his answer. "And so are you."

Taylor could see trouble on its way but he wasn't doing anything to stop it. "Zahra said I'm trying to rescue her or something."

"Are you?"

"I don't think so…I don't know. It's like she's mad at me or something. Like, I try…"

"You run, I chase. I chase, you run."

Taylor was shocked he hit the nail on the head. "How'd you know?"

 _Jessica_. John shrugged his shoulders. "I've been around. Been around long enough to know it doesn't work. Sometimes you wanna give it but you don't have it to give. Same with taking."

"So what'd you do?" He asked, thinking John was one of those _still waters run deep_ people his grandma warned him about.

"I ran. Deployment."

"Wow." In that moment, Taylor was reminded of how much he didn't know about the man he trusted implicitly to take care of his mother.

"But you're not like me. You're not so bad with the giving _or_ the taking. So find a girl who can do both…chicken's getting cold." John hung up his _Huskies_ hat of wisdom for the night.

 _7.33am, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

Saturday mornings weren't usually like this. Paul was used to Gina buzzing around, making breakfast and getting ready for a dance practice or competition. He wasn't used to seeing her so still, sitting at the kitchen table with no food; just two glasses of water and the cordless phone.

"What's up?" He asked, looking through a cupboard for Taylor's favourite _Cinnamon Crunch_ cereal.

She took a deep breath and wiped the sleep from her left eye. "Sit down."

"Gi-"

"You'll wanna be sitting when you hear this."

He heeded her warning and massaged his chin with his thumb and index finger. "So?"

"Leanne called. She said she tried to reach you all day yesterday."

He nodded. "That's 'cause I blocked her for sending Jeremy here in the first place."

She drew in another long breath. "There was a fire Thursday night, at the house."

"Leanne's house?" He asked, because he wasn't a stranger to her asking for money.

"No. Yours'. Well…Jeremy's."

Paul was still, which scared her even more than his exploding; because the last time he exploded he almost shot his father. He nodded slowly and wiped his mouth as though he was having a conversation with himself. She took it to mean he'd already jumped to a conclusion and he didn't have to jump too far. Gina tried to remain calm but with every breath her heart raced and beat against her chest because of Deon, back at _Hillman_. "What's the damage?" He asked, with a menacing calm as though he was plotting a murder.

Gina knew the answer. He knew she knew the answer. But she couldn't bring herself to say Nicole's house was no more; no more scones, no more pound cake, no more comforting smell of butter, no more prison for mother and son. "Baby, I'm so sorry." He didn't respond to her embrace, to her arms wrapped around his chest and her face against his. He just sat it his chair, numb, except for one whispered word. "Motherfucker."


	64. Medianoche

_A/N: Hi guys, I know you want to know, I want to know too!_

 _FYI - a Medianoche is a Cuban sandwich made of pork, swiss cheese and sweet bread._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 64: Medianoche

 _Saturday 11th March 2017, 3.33pm, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

It started with a laugh Paul recognised but hadn't heard in a long time. It was Taylor's, and he was happy. _Too_ happy for his own good. Only a girl could be responsible. The head of caramel s and z curls, the Game of Thrones t-shirt and the floral Doc Martens on the footrest had this transformative effect on him; the _old_ -old Taylor was back, goofy laugh, cockeyed stare and greasy lips from a medianoche. Trouble was a 5-foot-8 girl who looked less bookish than before, and fatherly warnings were futile. Taylor was gone – again – and no-one could stop it. "Hi Mr Carter." Bella greeted, taking her feet off the footrest and wiping the grin off Taylor's face.

"Hey Dad," was delivered with the deadpan tone that said, _you're cramping my style_.

"You know, Bella, you can call me Paul. I mean, that _is_ my name." Taylor shook his head and along came the inevitable awkward silence with this little speech that never landed. "Anyway, how's Princeton?"

"It's okay. Better."

"Good." Paul knew his son wanted him to find the nearest well and disappear down it for a while but there was family business to take care of. "Tay, when you're done pack an overnight bag."

Taylor was just as confused as his "just a friend" ex-girlfriend. "Where're we going?"

Paul cleared his throat because he hadn't told him the truth yet. "Norfolk."

Another awkward silence followed. Bella looked from son to father and back again, and something told her it wasn't for a fun trip.

 _6.07pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York_

Finch was concerned when Zoe was late for their standing dinner date at the snooty French restaurant that charged its monied patrons through the nose for sausage made of entrails. He didn't care if whatever they shared was misunderstood, so long as she kept their weekly appointment. They enjoyed a mutual understanding of whatever-this-was, and that seemed to be enough for him. The waiter interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me Sir, there's a call for a Mr Harold Arundel."

Finch smiled and took the cordless phone, it was unlike The Machine to intrude on his dinner dates. There was no string of alphanumeric codes, just a cynical tone he knew so well. "You're slipping."

"Good evening to you too, Ms. Shaw. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Zoe's about to pop. And her assistant's on Spring Break. So you're about to become _Billionaire Baby Daddy_ for real, all because…you're slipping."

Finch sighed. "She's 31 weeks, and as a physician, bedside manner notwithstanding, I'm sure you're aware of the risks associated with-"

Shaw cut him off. "Why'd you think I called?"

He recognised this was her version of compassion. "Where is she?"

"Manhattan Island, I'm hightailing."

"I greatly appreciate your efforts."

"Yeah, whatever, _Grandmaster Flash-Drive_. Bring me a doggy bag, I'm hungry."

 _11.23pm, Leanne Carter-Webb's house, Portsmouth, Virginia_

Paul didn't have answers for his son because he couldn't talk and think and reason and drive at the same time. Without seeing it for himself, he knew the house was gone and didn't know what to do about it. Maybe that was why he insisted on driving instead to flying, because he wanted to cross state lines without the accountability. Or maybe that was why he convinced Gina to stay home and rest, instead of coming along. He occupied a grey area, between past and present, between knowledge and confusion, between anger and sadness. And then there was hate. If Jeremy burned the house down to prove a point, he would surely hate him forever. Even if that same hate ate him up from the inside.

Taylor didn't need to ask questions. The fatigue was written all over Leanne's face. She was still in her car home zip tunic, hadn't slept and was sipping coffee to stay awake. Whatever happened was bad, maybe worse than the police tape around the house up the street. Though they were cousins, Leanne and Paul didn't hug as a greeting. "I didn't think you'd come," she said upon opening the door. Two company mugs of coffee later, they sat quietly in the living room. There were pictures on the wall of people Taylor never met, people they never spoke about; family members who died and others who just left. "You're getting tall."

"Oh, umm, thanks." Taylor replied.

"You still taking Math?" He nodded. She smiled. "Got that from your daddy, don't let no-one tell you different." Taylor was old enough to detect a pot-shot at his mother, even if it was subtle. "There's something I didn't tell you on the phone. Couldn't tell you." Paul took in a sharp breath, because Leanne had the subtlety of an 18-wheeler, so big and fast his chest protruded. "Uncle J's in the hospital. Sentara. Burns Unit."

Taylor started to connect the dots in the two-way conversation. "Why are you telling me now?" Paul asked, feeling blind-sighted even though he was leaving Taylor in the dark.

"'Cause you're here now." She explained. "And…double shift."

"Any more surprises?" Paul asked, feeling Taylor's stare on the right side of his neck.

"He asked about you. About two weeks ago, maybe three." The steely silence signalled the end of that line of conversation. "Where's Gina?"

"Home."

She shook her head. "I thought she was a keeper. We're family too, you know."

"Here comes the guilt trip." Paul replied, wondering if it was too late to find a motel for the night; it was.

"Uncle J always said you…" She saved that monologue because of Taylor's eager eyes. Joss' eyes staring back at her with intense curiosity. "Never mind. You going over there? Sentara. Burns Unit. Norfolk." She repeated as though he needed reminding.

"The house or the hospital?"

"Both."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That's why I'm here. I appreciate the call, Lee."

She shrugged her shoulders, mimicking him. "Family."

"Yeah… _family_."

 _11.34pm, Prospect Park, Brooklyn_

It wasn't often that Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols enjoyed a Saturday-night stroll in the park, if ever. But they weren't alone. With Shaw on the South entrance with Zoe's preterm labour cries ringing in her ears worse than a Taylor Swift song on the radio, Fusco making a last-ditch effort with Vonnie at the Ice Cream stand on the West – hoping to be a hero, – and earpieces in place, Joss thought life was pretty good and they'd finally found the balance. There was room for romance, even if the main course was preventing a teenage girl's stabbing over a stolen boyfriend, subliminal tweets and other social media. Across town, Finch was witnessing the other side of Zoe, a side to her he didn't know existed.

"…Maybe not Scranton. Maybe Montana." John suggested, revisiting the idea of retirement.

"Montana?" Joss repeated.

"Yeah. Horses. Nature. The outback." John explained.

" _Sounds more like Brokeback_." Shaw said out loud, making Fusco burst out laughing to Vonnie's bemusement. She didn't think her 'no eating glue' class rule was that funny.

"And who's gonna do my hair in Montana?" Joss asked.

"We'll find someone." John's blue-eyed promises were the last thing she needed to hear when they were on duty.

"You're just saying that so you can shoot all the game you want and not have to hear about it."

John knew bait when he saw it, he was a hunter after all. "I'm saying that because…it's something to look forward to."

"Uncle Sterling didn't call you a _smooth-talking bastard_ for nothing, John." She said with pride.

 _Sunday 12th March 2017, Sentara Norfolk General Hospital, Norfolk, Virginia_

 _"All giants fall like Goliath, Paul. It's in the Good Book, so it must be true."_

Paul heard his mother's words as Jeremy lay in the hospital bed, bandages across his heaving chest and around his arms and hands. As two of the few visitors to the Burns Unit, no-one stopped them from reading through Jeremy's file. He had second degree burns from the fire, from his escape; some on his chest from where his shirt caught fire. The question of who and what started it hung over their heads like a cloud. Even though there was an IV attached to his arm, Paul didn't know what to say to his father. "They got cable?"

"Just network TV." Jeremy replied, barely paying him any attention because he was fixated on Taylor, through the small window in the door. "Can't change it. Can't watch the fight or a good movie."

"Yeah. Like _The Mummy_." Paul said without thinking.

Jeremy was somewhat amused. "You got jokes?"

"When you gettin' outta here?"

"Don't know. Maybe never." He looked him up and down. "So Taylor's here?" Paul nodded. "Must be proud." Paul didn't know where he was going. "Took a _stand_. Didn't _sign_. Now there's no more house. _Your_ house, Paul. Mmm-hmm. _Proud_." Jeremy shook his head with disapproval. " _Kids_."

Paul was confused, if Jeremy did it why would he make himself homeless? Why would he-? "You got insurance?"

" _Pffffff._ _Obamacare_. No telling how long that's gonna last,"

Paul needed air, not because he was light-headed but because it was become evident there was no point in asking about the house. It all seemed so pointless. Even his anger. "Later Jeremy."

"It's been real." He said sarcastically. "You came all the way here, just to run."

"I'm not running. I'll be back later." Jeremy nodded with scepticism. "Like you said, it's nobody's house now."


	65. Morgan

_A/N: Hi guys, closing off two story arcs and characters so I can breathe fresh air into this fic._

 _FYI - Kandahar is in Afghanistan, a reference to Operation Rhino. I started this fic when the M word was Marriage, now it seems to be Manhood, who knows what it'll be next? Still collecting M Words by the way :)_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 65: Morgan

 _Sunday 12th March 2017, 2.36pm, Heartland General Hospital, Manhattan Island_

It was only when the drugs wore off, and Baby Girl Morgan was placed in the NICU with an endotracheal tube down her windpipe, that Zoe realised what she had done. Her mother was thousands of miles away on the West Coast, the pink teddy bear was a gift from a nurse rather than a close friend, and the only way she could touch her was with a finger through a hole in the incubator. Calista wasn't around to answer her calls and the latest update on _CaliGirl98Degrees_ ' Instagram page was a picture of Big Sean on the mainstage at Myrtle Beach with the hashtags #turnup and #moves. Arjen's stock response to the news was an administrative Congratulations and Best Wishes email that read like their encounter; straight to the point. Her only visitor wore a fedora and a three-piece suit and asked the dreaded question, "So what are your plans?"

Zoe stared into space, because she didn't have any.

 _4.42pm, Sentara Garden Park, Sentara Norfolk General Hospital, Norfolk, Virginia_

Neither father nor son had much of an appetite even though their stomachs said otherwise. The park bench was uneven but anything was better than staying inside that building. So many unspoken things and thoughts hung over their heads like a dark cloud. Paul doubted if he was up to the task of dealing with his father without losing his mind or his freedom. Taylor wondered how things got this bad, and why it seemed things were so hard to make any better when they got worse so easily. _Zahra_. _Brock_. _Jeremy_. "What're you gonna do about Jeremy?" Taylor asked, because he was the nearest.

Paul rubbed his forehead and felt a headache coming on. "I don't know. One minute, I wanna snap a neck and the next, I wanna take a knee. Sorry 'bout the house, Tay."

"Why? _You_ didn't do it." Taylor said matter-of-factly.

" _I_ brought you into this mess. And that's why you're the way you are."

"I don't get it."

Paul couldn't explain what he knew was true. "It's inside of you. You gotta break up with Zahra."

Taylor was taken aback because his dad usually took a passive advisory stance on his relationships. "Wh…what? How?"

"I don't like what she's bringing out in you. And _you_ don't like it either." Taylor wasn't used to being called out. Except when Bella did it but that was different. "It's stopped being fun, huh?" Taylor couldn't argue. "'Cause it's a mission. You try to save 'em, but you can't. So you keep on trying and it just gets harder. Know where I learned that?"

"Susan?"

He shook his head. "Kandahar. Look, I'm not saying run from Zahra back to Bella. Just…chill."

Taylor thought about it. "' _Cause girls aint nothin' but trouble_?"

"'Cause some girls are the wrong kind of trouble, Tay. The kind you lose yourself in."

"Is that they hate Ma? I mean, I've seen a lot of people hate Ma 'cause she's a _cop_ …or a _witness_ …or a _rat_ , but Aunt Leanne and Jeremy hate her in a different kinda way."

Paul rubbed his left eye because of what the brief encounters were exposing his son to and what he was old enough to see for himself. These were the times Joss would take over, finish the conversation on his behalf, fill in the gaps. But she cut him off months ago and nature abhorred a vacuum. It never occurred to Paul before her absence how wide the gap she filled was and how heavy the burden felt. "I guess it started on the football field. You know, I started playing 'cause I was chunky and Jeremy thought I was soft." They locked eyes because Taylor didn't know that. He just thought he liked the sport. Joss' eyes of compassion shone through her son, like they did back then, without judgement. "It was nothing special 'til Junior High, Coach said I had talent and if I wanted I could go Pro one day. And that was music to Jeremy's ears."

"Ma said you were good at Defence."

"Nah, I was just good at taking hits." Silence met the double entendre. A pigeon pecked at a half-eaten sandwich. "So that's when everything changed. He started showing up to all my games, talking about me to his friends on the job, pushing me; all because of football."

"Why?" Taylor asked, because it didn't compute with the relationship he knew them to have.

"'Cause he was fattening me up for slaughter, Taylor. That's how I got into Milton. Football scholarship. You should've seen his face, bragging, even threw a party; it was all about the NFL. Payday. The cash cow."

" _College cattle_." He repeated Zahra's phrase.

"Pretty much. When I met Joss, she asked if I was just a dumb jock."

He'd never heard this part of their love story. "And what'd you say?"

"I'm not dumb." Taylor nodded with respect. "She jimmied the lock and broke me out, Tay. And I started to think about what _I_ wanted to do, I wanted to use my head, to serve my country…and I wanted to marry her. Quick."

"So that's why they hate Ma."

He shook his head. "I was supposed to get 'em all out of Norfolk, like Keith on _Good Times_. He broke his leg at the wed-"

There were so many TVLand marathons at home, Taylor got the reference right away. "I remember, Dad."

He smiled. "They blame her for _that_. For changing me…cutting the puppet strings."

"Then why didn't you say something to Aunt Leanne?"

He couldn't justify why he didn't defend Joss back then, or even the night before. "Because…I can't."

"Why not?" Taylor asked, because it wasn't good enough.

"I can't do it. 'Cause they're right."

"About Ma?"

"About _me_. I left. I _ran_. And never came back. Not like I was before."

Taylor kinda-sorta understood and that was the best it would get. "D'you think Jeremy burned down the house?"

"Sometimes. And if he did he'll get his, Tay. I'm not tryna go to jail."

"I wanna say goodbye." Taylor announced.

"Why?"

"I got a feeling I won't see him again."

"Fair enough." Paul tried to lighten the mood, because it was a long drive back to New York and an even longer walk back to Jeremy's room. "Did I ever tell you about the time we kicked _Winston-Salem_ 's ass all the way back to North Carolina? _Bobcats turned Rams to Clams_ ," He recalled the headline from the student newspaper.

 _About ten times._ "No, what happened?"


	66. Meddling

_A/N: Hi guys, writing when I can. Life, oh life, oh liiiiiiiife, oh life, do-doo-doo-do (Name that record!)_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 66: Meddling

 _Tuesday 14th March 2017, 11.49am, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

The scent of butter wafted through the condo, from the kitchen to the spare room Gregory used to tune his instruments. It wasn't a sign of his wife's excellent baking or the smell of coconut; it was the odour of plot. He shook his head and left the bass guitar standing against the wall. Evelyn wore her satisfied-with-myself smile as she stirred the buttercream frosting and he knew she was up to no good – again. "Coconut cake?" He asked.

"Yes." She flashed another smug smile.

" _Six_ -layer coconut cake?"

"No, just four." She stated simply.

The siren in his mind wailed; this wasn't his cake or Taylor's – it was for Bella. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Starts with M. Rhymes with peddling."

She tapped her lips with her fingers. "I don't know that word."

" _Meddling_ , Ev. You're meddling. Again. And we all know what happened last time."

Evelyn's eyes reduced to slits, petty slits from being called out by the one who she thought was always supposed to be on her side. "That wedding was _bea-u-_ tiful. Even Rosie said so and she's never happy for anybody."

Gregory realised he'd already ruffled her feathers so there was no use in biting his tongue now. "Let me remind you: Joss had a panic attack,"

"But-"

"A deer lost its _life_ , Reggie Senior took a bullet to somewhere I'd rather not mention, and if Joss ever finds out about your plan you won't have a grandson _left_ to hook up with his ex-girlfriend…lovely as she may be. Stop yourself _now_ , Evelyn."

She shrugged her shoulders, bearing only 16 of her years. "Can't. Already invited her."

There were only three words for his exasperation. "Lord have mercy."

"He _needs_ this, Greg. You don't understand. If he stays with Zahra and they'll be married _two_ weeks after graduation."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Joss and Paul did it. And CeCe and Reggie did it. And we have a habit of marrying early in this family; especially to people running from something."

He took a deep, deep, deep breath to find reason in the situation. "I know you're trying to pull him out of it." She nodded emphatically, thinking she had won his over to her side of thinking. "But this will help him out the frying pan into the fire. You know that flame never went out." He looked at his watch. "George asked to me take over his 1pm class. Some kind of emergency. Coming?"

She shook her head. For once, Evelyn felt the hot flash of self-doubt and she didn't like the feeling or the man who gave it to her.

 _2.01pm, Tom's Diner, New York_

Shaw didn't know if what she was doing was gossip or just passing the time because John took the last number and the banjo player took himself off standby. In other words, she was bored, and being bored made her nosy. So nosy she went through Baby Girl Morgan's medical records and Zoe's email and phone records just because. With Fusco in New Jersey with Lee, it was odd for them to be alone together.

"Same old Shaw." Joss said, as half her toasted roast chicken sandwich disappeared off her plate. "I can order for you too, you know."

"I thought you did." Shaw replied with her mouth half-full. "Anyway, you want the lowdown or not?"

Joss didn't know what she was jumping into. "I don't know. I guess. Go ahead."

"It's a girl." Shaw said with the tact of a lead balloon. "No name yet.

 _Maya for a girl and Maxwell for a boy._ Joss got a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Oh. So...umm…it's early right?" It all felt so long ago but it wasn't really.

"Yeah. She has RDS – Respiratory Distress Syndrome – it means has trouble breathing. You know, preemie, NICU, lungs."

"Right." Joss didn't know what else to say because somewhere inside she felt for Zoe, even though she broke girl code and asked something outlandish of her husband. It didn't matter so much in comparison. "So who's there? I mean, besides Finch."

Shaw tore two sugar sachets open and put them in Carter's coffee even though she only took it with cream. Joss gave up the hot drink without a fight like lunch money in a playground. "No-one. Her assistant quit, good thing since she's somewhere flashing guys at Spring Break."

Joss was confused by something important. "But her mom's alive. So where is she?"

"On a juice fast. I mean it, look-" She read the message aloud. " _Currently on yoga retreat - I'll be there asap._ "

"That puts things into perspective." Joss' smartphone vibrated with Sergeant Pullido's call. "Gotta go – interrogation."

"Shouldn't you be happy or something? I mean, you won. She got what she wanted and she's out of your hair."

Shaw's logical explanation had no bearing on the emotions at play; emotions she couldn't understand. "No-one won. And no-one wants this. Later Shaw."

 _4.21pm, Flushing Meadows Corona Park, Queens_

Taylor never thought he'd be spending Spring Break doing things he did in High School, but Jeremy and the State of Virginia had drained him of the energy to do much except think. And one person took up most of his thoughts. Her hair smelt like peaches, her t-shirt had the lyric "Isn't it ironic?" on it, and her teeth still flashed when she smiled. He didn't need help or confection to ricochet into his not-so-old feelings. And her response to his brief recount of the Virginia trip hung the moon. "It could be worse, at least nobody got shot."

 _7.13pm, 8th Precinct_

After four hours in interrogation with periodic breaks, Joss came out to a sight she didn't understand. There were only three people at their desks; Laz the Police Aide, Officer Tremaine who had a broken ankle and Sergeant Devoe who was too old to move that fast. She followed the noise to the parking lot where Foster, the Dutch Shepherd and sniffer dog for Narcotics, had bitten a chunk from the back seat of Noguerra's car. She would have said she didn't understand, if Finch's mysterious treasure hunt phone call hadn't come to mind, or if Noguerra wasn't wearing the same "why is this happening to me?" facial expression he had when John staged the dognapping of his beloved family dog. John. _John_. _Damnit_ …


	67. Madea

_A/N: Hi guys, still writing when I can._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 67: Madea

 _Friday 17th March 2017, 3.07pm, Heartland General Hospital, Manhattan Island_

Zoe was startled by the brown hands lifting her premature baby out of the incubator. She'd seen enough stories about that, when she was up late watching _Lifetime_. _Abducted: The Carolina White story. Or was it Carla?_ "What are you doing?" She snapped at the nurse.

"Bringing her to you. It's about time you had some skin-to-skin contact; since you're not nursing."

Zoe detected a slight Jamaican lilt to her tone. Her name was Doreen, at least that's what her name tag said. "Oh. How'd you know I'm not nursing?"

Doreen smiled, observing the sainty manicured hands of a woman who didn't wash dishes. "I read your file…and Baby Girl Morgan doesn't have a name yet."

"I'm still thinking about it."

"No rush. I'm thinking about 30 minutes. Chair or bed?" Doreen asked, to a blank face.

It wasn't that Zoe didn't understand her, it was just more than she was prepared for. "Does the chair recline?" Doreen shook her head. "Okay, the bed then. And by skin-to-skin you mean…"

"Your chest to her chest. It'll help her thermoregulate."

"And by that you mean…"

 _9.14pm,_ _Rope-a-Dope Boxing Gym, Manhattan, New York_

Joss was so used to the same-old-same-old it didn't surprise her when her black sedan was missing from her parking spot. The dark grey escalade and its flashing lights was obviously her new ride and its driver had been avoiding the inevitable with work all week. " _Crack_ , John? Crack?" She exclaimed before her seatbelt was even secure.

He was as blasé about the contraband as she expected, which ticked her off even more. Noguerra's office was empty, because its entire contents were removed for a search. She hadn't seen him since the sniffer dog hung him out to dry. 'Administrative leave' is what they called it. "That should keep him busy." John surmised, taking a hard left.

"Busy?"

"You wanted him out of your hair."

"Yes, but-"

"And now he's out of your hair. Problem solved."

"You don't get it. _John_." She groaned, as he was over the line and couldn't – or refused to – see it.

"I get it perfectly. And I'm not sorry. Love means hating the people who hate the people you love. Screwing over the people who screwed over the people you love. Gut punching the people who gut punched the pe-"

"Enough with Madea's logic."

"Who's Madea?" He asked with genuine ignorance.

" _John_."

"Really, who's Madea? Anyway, love also means letting me eat this cheese steak sandwich in peace, unless you want some?"

She sighed in the same way she would for about fifteen years. "No, you eat it." _'Cause love means not choking your husband._

"Not even the steak?"

 _9.54pm, Evelyn's Condo, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

It didn't take long for karma to bite Evelyn where it hurt – right in her four-layer coconut cake. By her calculations a third of the six-inch unfinished masterpiece was gone, neatly sliced away, leaving few crumbs behind. "Gregory!" She called in distress, as if he wasn't used to her melodrama.

"Oh. I didn't tell you?" He asked, seeing the steam rising off her skin. "Taylor dropped by while you were at the Book Club. Bella had to babysit so she couldn't come. I thought, what a waste-"

" _Gregory_." She growled through gritted teeth at her thwarted efforts and he tried not to laugh.

"They're not getting back together, Ev. At least not right now. He doesn't a girlfriend in New Jersey and Bella isn't the kind of girl to leave an Ivy League school to make someone else happy. I think we should leave them be. Let them be friends."

"But…I _like_ her for him." She protested.

He decided to throw her a bone. "If it makes you feel any better they're together right now."

She beamed. "So it's a date."

"It's spoken word and-"

"Taylor hates spoken word." She finished his sentence with disappointment. "Why can't they just do what I tell them?"

"I don't know." He lied, to spare her feelings.

 _Saturday 18th March 2017, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Joss knew that look anywhere. It was the same look she wore at his age, years before she perfected her poker face. It was one of unshakeable curiosity, seventy-seven questions bubbling beneath the surface. It wouldn't go away on its own and probably kept him up at night. Funnily enough it was the thing that made her a detective, and her son an investigator. "Virginia on your mind?" She asked, as they sat at the kitchen island waiting for John to return with breakfast. It was still strange to see Taylor dri`nking coffee that wasn't 80% milk. He nodded. "What'd you wanna know?"

"What was she like?"

She could only be Nicole, the grandma he couldn't remember, the one he was named after. "I didn't know her that well; she was nice to me, quiet…umm…gentle."

"You always do that." He said, referring to her censorship. It was getting old, or maybe he was.

"Tay, some of your questions don't have answers. You're probably wondering why Jeremy's so mean, what kind of woman could've stayed with him for so long, what Leanne's deal is, and why Dad and I got together in the first place."

"Pretty much."

She tried to answer. "I don't know who or what made Jeremy the way he is and I don't know what kept Nicole around for so long if it wasn't fear…" She waited for him to say something but he didn't. "Leanne thinks her life would've been different if Paul was still on a leash – but he's not a dog." Taylor smiled at the image. "And as for us; we were kids who got in too deep 'cause it felt right at the time. Kinda like you and Zahra. I thought if I knew him better I'd understand. I don't know if I ever did..it it ever made sense. Tay, sometimes what feels like the right thing at the time isn't. We were too young to see what was ahead of us."

Taylor felt short-changed again; the answers were pointing back at himself. "Is that it?"

"I think so."

"You barely said anything."

She laughed to herself. "I tried to warn you…"


	68. Magenta

_A/N: Hi guys, I wanted to say something poignant about the natural disasters and general upheaval in the world but I can't. All I can do is hope you escape for a little while._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 68: Magenta

 _Two weeks later, Tuesday 4th April 2017, 7.38pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

John Reese and his many aliases had seen many things and faced many challenges in his time, but he wasn't prepared for John H. Nichols and his wife to be invited to dinner with the wealthy older couple who lived on the 4th floor. There was no protocol to lean on, or guidelines to go against; for three or more hours, he had to be himself. Or at least a version of himself that went well with Beef Wellington and red wine. Joss thought it was funny to see him sweat – or at least think – about what he'd do next. "Cutlery from the outside in," She teased, wiping the smear off a wine glass.

"They seem…normal." He stated, avoiding eye contact.

"And how'd you know that? Did you sweep their condo?"

 _Always a Detective_. "And their mail. Finch did the rest."

"Grandmaster Flash Drive." She said, shaking her head.

"I'm partial to the Cloud." Finch interjected, on speaker through the vibrating cell phone in her back pocket.

"I'll never get used to that. What's up, Finch?" She asked, because something was up more often than not.

"Wade and Deborah Fields are the genuine article." He confirmed, namely because the idea of John and fine dining was highly amusing.

"You mean they're normal." John gulped down the rest of the milk.

"I mean…you can proceed with your dinner plans. It might be useful for Mr Re—I mean _Nichols_ to socialise."

"With normal people?"

"Would you stop calling them normal? _We're_ normal." Joss insisted, because she liked to believe that.

"The homicide detective and the dead guy." John read Finch's mind.

"You're not a dead guy, John. You're just dead on paper…to the military…in some states."

"Same difference."

"Oxymoron."

"Nerd."

Joss's extended sigh made the eavesdropping more worth it. Finch loved their banter. "Did you want something Finch?" She asked.

"Just to inform you that Captain Noguerra's drug test came back inconclusive."

"Score." John said, wearing his crown as the King of Petty.

Joss felt like the only one with pangs of conscience. "Not you too, Finch. We can't tank him like this."

" _We_ can, you just don't want to." John replied. "But I had nothing to do with it."

The last time she heard those words – uttered by Aunt Tullie – she ended up at an engagement party – hers – and it wasn't pretty. "I'm afraid Mr Reese is telling the truth. It appears Captain Noguerra had a noticeable level of Methylphenidate in his system."

"Ritalin. That explains a lot." Joss thought aloud.

"Like why he stays up all night thinking of ways to screw you over?"

"Like why he's so high-strung, John. And paranoid. Like someone's out to get him."

"I am." John confirmed, as if the dog, the drugs and the donuts weren't clear enough.

"I meant _me_ , but anyway…we'll do it, Finch. You're right; _someone_ needs to be socialised."

 _Friday 7th April 2017, 1.28pm, Heartland General Hospital, Manhattan Island_

Harold had grown fond of Zoe over the months, from the secret French dinners to the privileged knowledge of her plans to conceive. And even thought her tactics were divisive, he was genuinely happy to see her succeed at her aim – with someone who wasn't John. There was something about walking through the pregnancy with her that drew them closer, perhaps the fact he would never do that again in this lifetime and not with his beloved, but Shaw was a betting woman who bet her gun collection on Zoe falling out of his graces eventually. And she was right. Zoe delivered the unintentional sucker punch with one word, that lit him up like a Christmas tree.

"What did you say?" He asked, as she rolled off names again.

"…Avery, Elizabeth, Grace." She repeated, wondering why his face went chalk white.

He shook his head vehemently. "No."

"Well, I'm not jazzed about any of the names either but Doreen said-"

"You. Can. Not. Name her _Grace_." He snapped.

Zoe has never seen that side of him. The Harold Finch she knew was mild-mannered and sober; this guy needed a Valium chased down with a V8. "What did I say? Where did that come from?"

Finch had no words to explain himself or the violent reaction coursing through his veins to the point he thought his head would explode. Ironically, she'd never seen him move so fast either; grabbing his top hat and cane, and making a beeline for the door.

 _6.34pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Shaw wasn't built to be the helpful one. Or the stable one. Or the kind one. Or the understanding one. But it seemed The Machine required her to be all those things.

\- Admin is unavailable.

"He's _right_ here." She said, though Finch wasn't mentally 'here', 'there' or 'anywhere'. He was sitting in an armchair, staring out the window.

\- Admin is unavailable.

"I get it. He's _offline_ or whatever."

\- Admin is unavailable.

"I know."

\- Admin is unavailable.

"Shoot me now…"

 _6.43pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

If John's wife was anything, she was subtle. Two sprays of perfume were enough for a discernible scent of jasmine. A simple magenta pleated skater dress and chocolate brown heels were enough for an outfit. A pair of white gold studs and an envelope clutch were enough for accessories. He watched her get dressed from the doorway to the Master bedroom. Maybe that was why Taylor often asked, " _When're you gonna take Ma out on a date?_ " So they could go somewhere that didn't involve guns, and do something that didn't involve ducking, and see some people who didn't have Numbers or prices on their heads. He was blissfully unaware of the state his friend was in or the trouble Shaw was having cracking a human code with the Machine. Joss was beautiful and she was his, so maybe a little forced interaction was worth it. "You ready?" She looked up knowingly, from rubbing her left leg with cocoa butter.

 _7.02pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

\- Admin is unavailable.

Shaw tried bargaining. "Why can't you just gimme a few numbers and I'll be on my way?"

\- Admin is unavailable.

She tried blackmail. "If you don't gimme the numbers, people die. You get that? They die."

\- Admin is unavailable.

She tried manipulation. "You've done it before. You let John Malkovich do it, why not me?"

\- Admin is unavailable.

"Crap!"

 _7.39pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Wade and Deborah Fields were the right kind of new money. Having made a small fortune in dotcom and foreign exchange, a healthy property portfolio in the Midwest kept them in comfort in their late fifties while under the radar. Somehow the grey and yellow living room was modern enough to feel inviting. From the photos, it seemed they had two grown kids, three grandkids and a few deceased pet dogs – memorialised on the wall amongst ancestors from a different era. "…You see John, that's Pop Manfri – Manfred. Came here as an indentured servant from England, Romanichal, a misunderstood people." Wade explained, between courses.

"Fascinating." John replied, thinking of the short branch on his own family tree.

"Can't say the media helps, but do they ever?" Joss' nervous laugh didn't go amiss. "Probably shouldn't have said that to a cop."

"Actually, she's a Detective." John explained, thinking the less he talked about _his_ work the better.

Deborah raised her eyebrows. "That's not something you see every day."

"I guess not. Can't see myself doing anything else though." Joss explained.

Wade nodded with respect. "Service. That's something that's missing these days. And you, John?"

John cleared his throat. His ten words or less strategy wasn't going so well. "I served. Couple terms in Iraq. That's all behind me now…except for the tats…"

 _7.46pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

Fusco was trying to be a better and more present partner to Vonnie, but it didn't help that Shaw's urgent yet profane 911 calls divided his loyalty. She wasn't used to dealing with the Machine, didn't know how to talk to it or what it was trying to say.

\- Admin is unavailable.

"See? That's all it does." She protested. "Fix it."

"What'd I look like? _Glasses_?" He asked, surprised Finch didn't greet him in that old-fashioned, _My Fair Lady_ kinda way.

\- Admin is unavailable.

"Okay, let's think. What happened?"

"Zoe happened. She's like crack. And crack is wack."

He held back the laughter. "In English? Or _Español por favor_?"

"Zoe cooks up Grace for a baby name – then _this_. She broke his brain."

" _Ouch_. So that's what the message means. The error message. He can't operate it."

" _Einstein_." She called him, mockingly.

"That means someone's gotta be Admin 'til we put Humpty Dumpty back together again."

"Tag, you're it." She declared. "Obviously, it doesn't trust me."

"Gee, why not? What makes you think it trusts me?"

"Ask it." She goaded, as if the Machine was a Ouija board.

"Why don't you ask it since you're half-metal yourself? Where's _Daredevil_ and _Elektra_? They're next in line for this…"

 _8.02pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

" _Your love is King, crown you in my heart. Your love is King, never need to part. Your kisses ring…round and round and round my head, touching the very part of me that's making my sould sing, tearing the very heart of me; your love is King…"_

The music, the ambiance, the company; it was all going too well. Joss swirled her second glass of red wine so it could breathe, though the next question might as well have taken the air out of the room. "So…how'd you meet?" Deborah asked, popping the cork on another bottle when the current one wasn't finished yet.

John looked for help, but her eyes were on everything but his. "In Brooklyn." That much was true. The whole suicide-attempt-on-the-bridge thing wasn't exactly dinner conversation. "Clover Club. She'd just come off a shift and I was there for the music. That was the first time I saw her. She's not the kind of woman you forget…"


	69. Marshal

_A/N: Hi guys, Chapter 69 already? Thanks for sticking around._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 69: Marshal

 _Friday 7th April 2017, 9.46pm, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

It turned out John Harvey Nichols could be social after all – since the deer story was entertaining to everyone but his wife. After seeing Wade and Deborah's response to his superb shot and dazzling blue eyes, even Joss started to see the humour in it – not that she'd ever tell him that. It took forced contact with people who didn't know about The Machine for him to see she deserved to be taken out more often, and maybe Taylor's asking, " _When are you taking Ma out on a date_ " had merit. The elevator ride back to the apartment was short, shorter than her dress. "Look at you, buttering me up so we can go home and have married people sex." Joss teased, kicking off her heels and massaging the balls of her feet into the carpet.

"Married people sex? Like twice a year?" He asked, looking for the zip in the back of her dress.

" _And_ on your birthday." The scent of jasmine was quite hypnotic, drawing him in until the vibrating phone in her clutch stole his attention. "It's Fusco. We're on."

"So much for being normal." John said with resignation.

"According to you; normal is overrated."

"It has its perks."

 _10:29pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

\- Admin is unavailable.

J`ohn knew it was true; from the dejected state his friend was in, to Shaw's exasperation, to the inexplicable pink in Fusco's face. He'd blown it with Vonnie – again – on the night he was supposed to be making things up to her. They'd had the dreaded " _don't treat me like an option when I'm making you a priority_ " conversation and the Other Woman in his life wasn't helping. "Just tell her you fell off the wagon." Shaw suggested to a silent room. "What's wrong with that?"

No-one had an answer, not even The Machine, so Carter tried. "Looks like we're in the dark until Finch is…back in the zone."

"What does that mean?" Shaw asked.

"It means we're on the beat. That includes you, _Bam-Bam_." Fusco wasn't looking forward to sharing a car or another evening with her and her offensive suggestion.

Shaw was over the line and didn't even know it. "So, I get a badge?"

Joss never thought she'd uttered those words. "No, you get a star."

 _10:41pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

John failed at making Sencha tea four times until he settled for Japanese beer instead. Finch hadn't moved but his jaw was less tense since company left. "They say it gets easier; that's a lie." John popped the cap off. "What they really mean is you manage the pain better, or numb it better, or replace it with something better." Upon his words, Finch accepted the drink. "I know what she means to you, Harold. And I know it's killing you." Finch's eyes pierced through him. "So, what do we do now?"

Finch uttered one word to his creation, not his friend. "Scenarios." And The Machine responded with pop-up animations of 57 selectable scenarios of his going back to Grace; each categorised by outcome, ranging from Acceptance to Indifference to Rejection to Horror. Rejection was the most likely. "Holy sh…I mean, you put a lot of thought into this."

Finch's knowing half-smile had a sadness to it. "I'm in the thinking business."

 _11.21pm, Downtown Flushing, New York_

The Ride Along with the newly appointed Marshal Jennings was going as well as could be expected; Fusco was grinding his molars down and Carter had the pleasure of explaining what she could and couldn't do – mainly couldn't. "…No, you can't put him in a chokehold just because…"

"Why not?"

"It's bad for the optics." Fusco murmured, realising he'd have to go back into the dating game or online to find another woman he liked enough to get to this point with. "And unethical."

"What's up with you? Someone ate the last curly fry?"

"It's gonna be a long night."

" _Domestic dispute on 1048 Marvill Street_ …"

 _11:37pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York_

"Harold-" John protested, it wasn't healthy for Finch's pining to descend into self-loathing.

"She'll think I'm a monster…and I am. I've been selfish. She hasn't been free. She's had no privacy. All this time."

"You can't control everything, Harold. You built this Machine. You trained it to think like you."

Finch blinked. "I trained it to reason. To see variables unseen and unconsidered."

John tested it out for himself. "Should Joss be with me? Or is she better off alone?"

\- Better off alone.

"See?" John reasoned. "Sure she'd be safer without me, probably married to some square with a stamp collection, she might even be a Judge or a Lieutenant. But that's all on paper. The Machine can't tell you about the semi-automatics, the 911 calls, the deer, a steak sandwich or a slice of coconut cake. The things that matter. If you want her, Finch, go get her."

"How can I…how will she ever understand?"

"No idea."

Finch chuckled. "You and The Machine, both. I'll have you know it prompted me to befriend Ms Morgan in her time of need. I seem to have misplaced some feelings and for that I'm rather embarrassed."

"Transference."

"Perhaps. She's in need of a female companion. Preferably a mother."

John's scepticism was warranted. "Good luck with that, Shaw's a real mother."

"I meant in the biological sense."

"Joss won't go for it, something about the Girl Code…and _spermgate_."

Finch had an impulsive idea. "Thank you for your company, Mr Reese. I think I've got it from here."

John didn't know what to do with a "free" evening. "What about the numbers?"

"The Machine has a mind of its own, Mr Reese, its very own." And with that acknowledgement, it started running again.

 _Saturday 8thApril 2017, 5.04am, Galah Apartments, Washington Street, West Village, Manhattan_

Joss washed the dried blood off her hands, wrist and forearm. Finch's upset triggered a delay they couldn't make up for; they weren't there to prevent the domestic dispute on Marvill Street from escalating to a calculated stabbing in the chest. The scorned woman going after the side chick was quite routine, but aiming for her implants wasn't. It wasn't easy stopping the blood while Shaw called them 'inflatables' and placed an order at the all-night Shawarma spot. John had failure written on his face, and she didn't ask a question he didn't want to answer. The evening had started off so well, as good as she she deserved, and descended into something they'd be living out for the next decade; highs and lows in quick succession.

"What keeps you here?" He asked, brushing against her in their pristine en suite bathroom.

"The same reason you came to Summerville. Because I love you John, and I see you when you think no-one's watching. The Hobo in a Suit." She knew something was brewing but didn't push. "I'm gonna wash it off.

He took that as a challenge. "All the more the reason to get your hair wet."

"It's not your birthday, John."

He gave up for the moment. "Married people."

While Joss showered in peace and washed away the residue of the evening as thought dinner with their neighbours never happened, the alarm went off on her smartphone. John cancelled it as she'd already done a double shift, but he couldn't ignore the missed call and voicemail from Paul at 1.30am. The temptation to hear it was worth violating her privacy, or so he thought. " _Hey Joss, it's me. Ummm…it's been a while. I don't…I know it's…Look I need to see you. Meet me at the Diner?_ "

John had already decided he would be there to see Paul in the flesh and find out what he wanted to drag her into next.


	70. Mature

_A/N: Hi guys, I'm having a travel break soon so here's a triple dose - John/Paul Joss/Zoe and Taylor/Zahra ***cabbage patch dances***_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _As always, enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 70: Mature

 _Tuesday 11thApril 2017, 5.40pm, Tom's Diner, New York_

John tried. He really tried. At least, that's what he told himself when he deleted the voicemail, texted back a date and time, and deleted the records from his wife's phone. He even told Finch how hard he tried, triggering the Machine to calculate the likelihood of premeditated violence and produce Paul Leroy Carter as a number. The tussle between leaving Paul alone, telling Joss about it, and driving to Queens to knock him out, was too much. The temptation to end it all was too strong. Even the chubby, friendly waitress with a run in her tights who looked like Julia Stiles, noticed he was on edge. "Can I get you something to drink?" She asked, because in all the years he came in he never ate.

"Two cappuccinos, please."

It became clearer why he was being short with her when the 'muscle man', as she nicknamed him, came in through the side entrance. She'd seen both men with the same woman, but never at the same time, and since they were glaring at each other, she assumed conflict was inevitable. "We have a special-"

"I'm not hungry." Paul replied. "John,"

"Paul." He greeted through his teeth.

"Two cappuccinos coming up." She said, forcing a smile as she moved to another table – fast

"So, is Joss coming or just you?" Paul asked, thinking he should've known better. Joss was the "don't text, just call" type.

John smiled, in his borderline homicidal fashion. "Just me."

"Great." Paul still didn't know what she saw in this guy who wouldn't last 10 minutes after sundown in Norfolk and had a corny suit for everyday of the week. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm curious." John stated, wondering how many back muscles she grew carrying this guy around. "What'd you want with Joss?"

Paul considered being elusive but figured she'd tell him anyway. "I wanna know what happened to the house."

"What's that got to do with Joss?"

"Local PD's a joke. The property developer called it an 'unfortunate incident' and a 'nail house' in the same conversation."

John repeated himself. "What's that got to do with Joss?"

Paul felt his anger rising and breathed deeply through his nose. "I thought she could help."

John saw vermillion because this was the cycle tried to break by cutting him off before the holidays. "You've had enough help. About 30 years' worth."

"You don't get it." Paul dismissed him because that was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"What's not to get? You suck the life out of her. _Used_ to. The only one who makes my wife pull her hair out is me…So hire a PI, get an Arson specialist on it but leave Joss out of it."

Paul wanted nothing more than to drag this blue-eyed bastard over the table by the lapels and beat him into the very fabric of the booth. With a low blow in mind, it was his turn to smile. "You'll never get it 'cause you've got no-one to leave anything to. No legacy. Taylor's a Carter, always will be. Don't forget that."

"That's rich since all the hard work was done without you. I'm gonna say this _once_ , Paul; leave Joss alone. Don't call, don't text, don't leave any more pathetic voicemails."

"Or what?"

John thought of the most succinct phrasing. "Or we can shoot a fair one, and they'll hate us both. Cappuccino?"

 _7.06pm, Heartland General Hospital, Manhattan Island_

Joss hated hospitals because they reminded her of the worst times in her life; Taylor's traumatic birth, her father's death, the life-saving surgery in Iraq, the D&C after miscarriage not even Evelyn knew about, and every time John needed more than a routine patch-up. The only reason she was there was at Finch's humble request because he couldn't face Zoe after his freak-out. A long peek at the visitor records let her know he was Zoe's last and only visitor. "How did you get here?" Zoe asked, as she folded a yellow smaller-than-newborn babygro.

Joss flashed her badge. "Kinda gets me in anywhere."

Zoe smiled faintly but it soon disappeared. "Haven't seen you since…it's been a long time."

She nodded in agreement. "Where is she?"

"Sleeping down the hall."

"Congratulations."

It felt odd not coming from a friend, nice but odd. "Thanks. Joss, if you're here about John-"

"I'm not."

"Okay, so it's about Finch."

Joss leaned against the wall. "He's hurt. He's still hurting."

"Because of me?"

"Because of Grace." She explained. "The woman he loved, he _still_ loves and can't have."

Zoe realised she'd been in a triangle for some time. "So that's what set him off."

"I just thought you should know. That name does something to him, and it's not pretty." She changed subject because there was nothing else to say. "Names are hard, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm running out of time." There was a not-so-awkward silence. "D'you know why I wanted to have a baby in the first place? It's the one thing I didn't have. Now I have her, and I hardly know what to do with her when Doreen's not around."

Joss remembered the early days, but Evelyn was always around back then. Still was. "Protect her like danger's all around and you're her only hope. 'Cause it is. And you are."

Zoe blinked at the concept. Danger wasn't at the forefront of her mind most days, but then again she wasn't a cop. "What if I can't?"

"You have to. You're her mother."

Zoe wasn't used to hearing those words out loud. The NICU was an unusual place to be; the parents of babies clinging on to life didn't make conversation, mothers who were more prepared anxiously waited to take theirs home to ready-made nurseries, couples consoled each other daily, family members came to visit with teddy bears and prayers. And then there was Zoe, whose mother was 3000 miles away and whose only friend was slowly dying from unrequited love. She thought aloud. "It could've been different." The question was how, and there wasn't enough time for that answer. "How'd you do it?"

Joss thought about it. "With help."

"I mean _how,_ "

"Ma used to say; _a mother's love is medicine._ She also said _a baby's not gonna feed themselves_. I guess that's how. I think I'm done here. Be gentle with Finch. He's fragile. And Greek names are nice."

 _Thursday 13th April 2017, 1.01pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

Despite Mr Gregory's advice not to distance himself from his problems, Taylor's recent happiness was linked to avoiding various sources of stress in his life. Since Spring Break, he'd dodged Paul's calls and called him instead in small pockets of time when he had to be somewhere else; that was to avoid hearing about Jeremy. He'd developed a routine of shoving R.U.M.M. letters into a stuffed envelope so Brock didn't cross his mind for too long. And more importantly and perhaps cowardly, he stayed out of Zahra's way as much as he could. He was even playing soccer again, albeit poorly, trying to be friends with Bella, and blasting Kendrick or Kung Fu Kenny like he used to. His daily mantra was 'sit down, be humble' or so he thought until running time was over and Zahra was at his door. "Just break up with me" was her greeting as he let her in.

Taylor was less confused by Linear Algebra. "Huh?"

"Break up with me. Stop trying to _nice guy_ your way out of it."

"But…I don't wanna…"

"Hurt my feelings?"

"Well…yeah. I guess."

She asked a question that was a long time coming. "Do you feel sorry for me?"

"I don't know…sometimes? But not like _that_."

"You know, I just wanna be normal. So, treat me like you'd treat another girl."

Taylor swallowed because he didn't want to do what he had to. "It's not fun anymore…and…I don't wanna be…together anymore."


	71. Martinique

_A/N: I know it's been a long, long time *Dorothy Moore voice* but I will finish this one soon :)_

 _Thanks, and enjoy x_

* * *

Chapter 71: Martinique

 _Two weeks later, Thursday 27_ _th_ _April 2017, 4.50am, Paul's house, Elmhurst, Queens_

Gina DeVeaux thought of herself as a reasonable woman, one of more patience than most. But even she had her limits; limits that made her pack a duffel bag of new dance team uniforms while Paul lay asleep thinking of whatever had him turning in his sleep more than normal. Joss, probably. Jeremy, certainly. The last time they spoke was at dinner, where he was preoccupied about finding Jeremy a place to stay when he got discharged from the hospital.

 _"Norfolk Light Motel." He stated more than suggested as though his mind was already made up._

 _"A motel for your father?" She asked, as her tacos went cold._

 _He closed the fridge and said in a cavalier fashion, "I'll pay by the month. He'll be alright."_

 _She could hear the tightness of his jaw as he spoke. She could feel that tightness when they kissed and feel his frustration as his lovemaking became more selfish and less attentive in that I-could've-had-a-V8-kinda-way. "You seeing Susan on Thursday?"_

 _He nodded and ate his taco in four bites like a college kid._

 _'Good, 'cause you need it', she thought._

Then he downed a protein shake, none the wiser that she was unhappy. So when he started to kiss her on her neck as she washed the dishes and she didn't respond, he didn't read into it and went to the garage to bench press for a while. Gina's mouth couldn't form the words, " _I heard you on the phone to her_ " but she knew it was trouble that he took to sharing his moment of weakness with another woman who wasn't paid by the hour to understand him. His hands were shaking when he called, she watched him silently from the bed, as he didn't know she was awake.

" _Hey Joss, it's me. Ummm…it's been a while. I don't…I know it's…Look I need to see you. Meet me at the Diner?_ "

So Gina packed her bag with those words ringing in her ears, and thoughts in her mind that ran wild. She always thought Joss was off-limits to him, but that call and his desperation said something different. It said this man wasn't hers, that she couldn't help him, that even Susan couldn't do it. He wanted Joss… _still_. He wanted to hear her voice in his darkest hour, in the middle of the night when the world outside New York was asleep. That was an ugly truth she had no choice but to see. And seeing it gave her an energy she hadn't felt in months; it emboldened her to face it in a way Paul couldn't face his own blistered father. After all, Taylor did say something about the 8th Precinct…

 _2.03pm, Turner Hall, Emory University_

 _Girls talk_. That much Taylor knew, but he didn't know that the last person he said those words to would be at his door, wearing a football jersey and paint on his face, already pumped up for his Friday night game against the Georgia Bulldogs. "Reggie?"

"Ask me how I got here. Come on, ask me how I got here." Reggie asked with the eagerness of someone on a Red Bull IV drip, pushing his way through the door.

"How'd you get here?" Taylor asked, to his chagrin.

"That girl Zora." He replied with a mischievous grin. "So, you wearing my shirt or what?"

He was greeted with a printed _Reggie "Da Champ" DuChamp_ shirt on his face. "You mean _Zahra_."

"Whatever. Wear it."

He could tell beneath the jerkiness he was nervous. And if Taylor followed college football like he did Premier League soccer, he would've known Reggie's star was fading fast. "Fine. What're you doing here?"

"Killing time." Reggie said, looking at the posters on the wall. In his room, legs-spread Nicki Minaj with a lollipop was squatting where Uma Thurman lying on a bed smoking a cigarette in _Pulp Fiction_ was.

Taylor asked the obvious. "Shouldn't you be at practice? Scrimmage? Something?" The long silence said enough. "You got benched, huh?"

Reggie scratched the back of his neck just like his father did and explained it away. "Coach…has…a rotation thing going on."

"Rotation?" Taylor repeated.

"Shut up…look just don't tell anyone, alright?"

Taylor acquiesced, like he often did with his cousin because Reggie had that effect on him. "Who am I gonna tell?"

Reggie punched his chest in approval and smiled as someone knocked on the door. "Who's that?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Look, if I'm blocking just say it."

"Shut up, Reggie." Taylor grumbled, because it was _That girl Zora_ and he was expecting her. "Hey Zahra," Taylor greeted as the climate of the room changed on her entry. "I got the R.U.M.M. letters. Anything else?"

"Not really. Margot thinks you suck."

Taylor shrugged his shoulders because he figured that blaming him to her roommate was part of her acting and feeling like any other girl. "Zahra, Reggie. Reggie, Zahra."

"Hi."

"Zara like the store?" She nodded. "You ever take that thing off?" He blurted out, referring to the blue seashell print scarf on her head that was wrapped into a headwrap his mom wore when she was waiting for her hair appointments.

"Only when I'm plotting." She joked.

"He's not always like this." Taylor explained as he gave her the stuffed envelope of R.U.M.M. letters Brock wasn't around to open for a social psychology assignment.

"I think he is." She said with a smile Reggie didn't understand. He was too insensitive to handle her with kid gloves and that was something she appreciated. "Later, Taylor. Reggie."

"Later."

"What the hell was that?" Reggie asked a few milliseconds after she left. Taylor couldn't explain it with more than a shoulder shrug. Shoulders that felt infinitely lighter since he broke up with her. Reggie watched his cousin punk out, in his eyes, with genuine disappointment. Especially when _That girl Zora_ was just a few points off hot in his opinion. He resisted the urge to call his cousin a Simp, when their very King Russell Wilson was winning at life.

"Why'd you get benched?" Taylor asked, because he figured Reggie might as well tell someone.

Reggie sighed. "I know the plays. Shit, I know what to do. I just can't get my head in the game."

Taylor threw out his first thought. "Aleesha?"

He shook his head because she still wasn't talking to him and it had been so long he forgot why. "They got married." Reggie had never said the words out loud; he was repeating them from the time CeCe bought him new Jordans to break the news and he hadn't been the same since.

Taylor understood why his hands and feet couldn't do what his head knew they should, and how expendable he was as college cattle – especially underperforming cattle on a scholarship. But Reggie didn't want sympathy, he wanted collusion for support. "So…Rotation?"

"Yeah." Reggie nodded. "Rotation."

 _4.21pm, 8_ _th_ _Precinct_

Gina DeVeaux picked the wrong day to visit a homicide detective at work, if the two hour wait while she interviewed witnesses from a nightclub stabbing in Spanish Harlem was anything to go by. She spotted numerous black and brown faces being walked in and fewer walked out as she read a crumpled Essence Magazine with Kerry Washington on it. She thought Laz the Police Aide was about to apologise for the third time when he took her to an interview room to see the woman she wanted instead. "Gina? Is something wrong?"

Gina wasn't expecting concern, or that one of her eyebrows arched higher than the other. "I'm sorry for coming but I didn't know where else to find you."

Joss recognised that panicked look on her face. She used to wear it often. "It's okay. Water? Coffee?"

"No, thanks."

"How can I help?" Joss asked in her cop voice.

Gina exhaled and looked her in the eye. "I know."

There was no recognition or guilt in Joss' soulful eyes. "You know what?"

"About the call." She read Joss' face, nothing registered because she didn't know. "He called you on Saturday. 1.30. AM."

Joss shook her head because she was home that time. "No, he didn't. Maybe you confused me for someone else."

Gina knew she wasn't crazy but was relieved to know they weren't talking. "He called you, Joss. I swear he did."

Joss knew she was telling the truth and there was only one explanation; a certain phone-cloning, building-leaping, car-speeding deer shooter in-a-suit. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Gina? There's a pile of reports on my desk."

"No, thanks for hearing me out."


End file.
